The Panic of Memory
by ToneeLabradeen
Summary: Drarry Draco x Harry with a focus on Draco. Ignores epilogue of DH. Two years after the war ends, and after two long years of trying to forget, Draco runs into one reminder he won't be able to get rid of. How will he be able to handle it?
1. Ice Cream

Draco always ran his errands the exact same way. First to Flourish and Blotts to read up on the latest research into magic, then to some only half-shady places on Knockturn Alley for potions ingredients, to the potions shop on Diagon Alley for the rest of his potions ingredients, possibly into Quality Quidditch for a new broom or some such, into Gringotts to place any leftover money into his vault, and finally into Florean Fortescue's for some ice cream. The thing he loved about Florean Fortescue's was that each serving of ice cream was perfect for exactly one person – the person purchasing it. No two ice creams looked the same, and no two ice creams tasted the same. Even identical twins had different ice creams, if only slightly. Draco's was a relatively pleasant whitish color at the top and faded, near the bottom, to a cacophonic rainbow. It tasted of dark chocolate with a slight hint of chili pepper and – of all things – a tiny dash of orange. He wouldn't have picked it out of a lineup to taste, but once he'd tasted it, he never wanted any other flavour ever again.

Two years after the war saw Draco leaving Flourish and Blotts with his nose stuck in a recent release about some theories as to what made magic work. He was so absorbed in what he was reading that he ran headlong into a figure staring into the window of Quality Quidditch. Caught off-guard, Draco immediately lowered the book and offered a hand to help up the person he'd knocked over. "I'm so terribly sorry for—oh," he started, interrupting himself as he saw who it was he was helping up. "It's you, Potter. Watch yourself next time." He saw in the other male's face a sort of disconnect, as if he couldn't believe that Draco was actually being polite for once, that faded when Draco's sneer returned in both his voice and his facial expression.

"Draco," Harry said, feeling strange over the fact that he was past all pretense of hostility. "It's been a while since I've seen you. Two years, I think." In fact, Draco himself felt strange keeping up the pretense of hostility, but he didn't want to continue this conversation. Hogwarts was the one thing he absolutely did _not_ want to think about or remember, so the hostility was necessary. He didn't want the memories coming back and overwhelming him again.

"Not long enough, I say," the blond hissed, hating himself for saying it but knowing it was necessary on more than one level. He wasn't that person anymore, the one who snapped at people and got everything he wanted and pushed people around, but if he had to erect a wall of hostility to protect himself, he had to do it. "Watch yourself from now on, will you, Potter?" That said, Draco shoved past the Boy Who Lived and made his way to Knockturn Alley to finish his errands. Harry stared after Draco, wishing he could know what was going on in the youngest Malfoy's mind.

After a few moments wondering, Harry turned back to the window of Quality Quidditch and the latest model Firebolt just behind the glass. He stared for a few minutes more before going inside to buy it, getting distracted by just about everything inside: Gloves, boots, padding, helmets, practice Snitches and quaffles and bludgers. A couple of hours had passed by the time he actually got to the counter to pay for his new broom, and the clerk took another five minutes just groveling and sniveling to the Boy Who Lived. Harry was used to it, but that didn't mean that he liked the simpering and the attention. He decided, when he left the shop, to get some ice cream at Florean Fortescue's, to calm himself after the shopkeeper had grated his nerves. He went into the ice cream shop, ignoring the outdoor seating for the time being, and quickly ordered and paid for his ice cream. Whitish at the perfectly domed top, the ice cream faded to a rainbow of colors at the bottom and tasted of chocolate with chili pepper and a dash of orange, just the same as Draco Malfoy's, though he didn't know it.

The sun was suddenly blinding when Harry left the ice cream shop to sit outside, though after a moment Harry realized it wasn't the sun, but its reflection off the pale blond locks of one Draco Malfoy, with whom Harry wished to reconnect. Sure, Ron and Hermione were still very good friends, but aside from them and the rest of the Weasley clan, Harry had no contact with anyone from Hogwarts. He wanted to know how Draco had fared after the war, after school, even if Draco insisted on being hostile, so he smiled and walked over to where the youngest Malfoy was sitting. "Is this seat taken, or may I sit with you?" he asked politely, trying to make a good impression. He didn't notice the other male's ice cream just then.

"I suppose you may, if you insist upon stalking me, Potter," Draco said, his eyes falling on the Gryffindor's ice cream instead of his face. He was struck by how similar – how _identical_ – their ice creams looked. Not just a little similar. The two servings looked exactly the same, and it unnerved Draco a bit, made him forget that he was supposed to be driving this harbinger of memories away. He heard his voice speaking before he fully realized he was speaking: "Harry, do you notice anything odd about your ice cream in comparison to mine?" Harry blinked a couple of times, looked from his own ice cream to Draco's and back again, then sat down heavily, his new broom almost falling loudly to the ground.

"They look identical," Harry said, carefully placing his brand new Firebolt on the ground next to his seat. "Completely identical. I've never heard of that happening before."

"It is quite curious," Draco agreed, taking a bite of his own heavenly ice cream and remembering his need for hostility. "Is there a reason you happen to be stalking me, Potter?"

"I just wanted to catch up with someone from Hogwarts, from the last time I felt like a normal human being in any capacity," Harry admitted, staring into the ice cream he'd just begun to eat; because of this distraction, he didn't notice that Draco's entire body stiffened at the word "Hogwarts".

"If you so wish to connect, I must ask that you not mention our schooling or the war," Draco said, taking a spoonful of ice cream that he suddenly didn't want to eat. Harry looked up from his own ice cream, slightly startled by the morose tone of Draco Malfoy's usually-haughty voice. He felt suddenly very, very guilty, though he couldn't understand why.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize it was a sore spot for you," the dark-haired male half-whispered, not wanting to drive away this potential friend. "Tell me what happened to you after the…well, since we lost track of each other's lives."

"My parents are…gone, I sold Malfoy Manor, and I'm living in a flat just off Diagon Alley which I purchased outright with a small portion of the proceeds of selling the Manor," Draco rattled off, stating simple facts. The circumstances of his parents being gone – his father dead, his mother in Azkaban for life, with a single complicated mess surrounding both – was a memory that Draco lumped together with Hogwarts, in a box somewhere in the back of his mind labeled "DANGER: DO NOT OPEN". "I work a couple days a week at St. Mungo's, helping build up their stocks of potions, sometimes providing emergency doses of potions not normally kept in their stock, like Liquid Luck or a particularly strong sleeping draught." Harry had frozen with his spoon halfway to his mouth, laden with ice cream, when Draco had said the elder Malfoys were gone. He didn't know exactly what that meant, but he could guess.

"God…I'm sorry, Draco," he gasped out, putting his spoon back in the dish. "I didn't realize…I wouldn't have asked…" Draco waved a hand. He'd decided to be civil, at least minimally.

"It's alright. You didn't know," the blond assuaged, taking a spoonful of ice cream and eating it instead of abandoning it like he had the last. "What about yourself? How have you and…Miss Weasley been faring?" He wanted to say the girl's name, but he couldn't recall it and he didn't dare try to think back to a time when he'd have heard it. Harry seemed to grow uncomfortable.

"We broke up a year and a half ago," the brunette sighed, looking off to the sidewalk. "It just wasn't working out. As for work, I wanted to be an Auror, but…it didn't quite work out. I've been taking odd jobs as I can get them." Draco raised an eyebrow at this. Harry Potter, unable to become an Auror? It was unthinkable. Inconceivable, even.

"What happened that you're not an Auror?" Draco asked, very curious. Everyone at Hogwarts knew it was Harry Potter's dream to be an Auror, and even the media had picked up on it.

"Ginny talked me out of it, and I haven't quite talked myself back into it yet," Harry admitted sheepishly, and Draco's eyebrows drew together in a look that said he was scheming something.

"I could get you a job at St. Mungo's with me, which would get you a good recommendation for the Ministry, and from there it would just be a matter of getting your confidence in the profession back up," the youngest surviving Malfoy said, surprising the both of them with his offer of kindness. They both blinked a couple times before recovering their faculties.

"That would be wonderful," Harry said, meeting Draco's silvery eyes fully for the first time that day. Draco was staring back into Harry's green eyes, and that eye contact was almost too much for Draco to handle; it reminded him so fully of Hogwarts that he had to look away almost immediately, though he felt guilty for doing so and tentatively looked back up to meet Harry Potter's haunted yet startlingly clear gaze. "What would I be doing?" Draco shrugged.

"Most likely helping myself and a couple of others with potions," he said, taking bite of ice cream. "The recipes are readily available at the hospital, in case you need them, and the rest of us would be more than willing to help you if you need it. The next time I go in I'll see what I can do for you."

"Thank you, Draco," Harry replied, smiling, and he really did mean it, strange as the sentence felt on his lips and in his throat. "I'm living in a flat near here as well; would you like to come over for some tea?" Draco shook his head, though he wanted to accept.

"I don't think that would be the best idea. I'll owl you once I've worked something out at St. Mungo's for you," the blond replied, doing his best to finish up his ice cream. It wasn't melting, but he felt the need to get home as soon as possible. He hated to rush when eating, but he needed to get home. He didn't quite fully understand why, but he had an idea that was only marginally correct. He politely excused himself, returned his empty dish to the girl at the counter inside, and made his way back to his own flat, where he made himself tea and sat down in the plush black armchair in his living room, trying to focus on the present instead of letting the past swell up and wash over him.


	2. Panic

It wasn't very hard for Draco to pull a few strings and get a job for Harry helping to mix potions at St. Mungo's – his boss practically begged Draco to get the famous wizard working in the hospital in some capacity or other, so all Draco had to do was suggest the job and it was as good as Harry's. Supposedly, the hospital needed some good public relations. Draco supposed the hospital just needed public relations, period, but he wasn't about to say so. Instead, when he got home from work that day, he spread a sheet of parchment on his kitchen table and began to write:

_Harry, I am writing to inform you of the fact that you have been offered a job with me at St. Mungo's. We will be working the same shifts, the pay is good, and I can teach you all you need to know that you do not know already, as well as remind you of what has been forgotten. Your first shift is tomorrow afternoon. I will expect you at my flat at one o'clock sharp. Best, Draco_

He wrote his address at the bottom, so that Harry had a chance of showing up on time, folded the parchment, sealed it, wrote Harry's name on it so there would be no confusion, and gave it to the large, grey owl perched on one of his kitchen chairs. "Off you go, Canitiem," he said, getting up and opening a window for the great grey owl to fly through. The owl rustled its voluminous feathers, hopped over to the window from the chair, and hopped out the window before spreading its five-foot wingspan and truly taking to the air. Draco watched the large female owl fly away towards Harry's flat, wondering how much of his parents' fortune Harry had left. It had been common knowledge at Hogwarts that Harry's parents had left him a fortune, but no one knew how responsible he was with it. With a sigh, Draco moved away from the window – which he left open for Canitiem's return – and sat down in his favorite armchair, staring at the fireplace. He took out his wand and gave it a flick, lighting the pile of logs in the simple fireplace. Most of the flats in the building had a fireplace, but almost none used it for normal fires; majority were used for travel by floo powder. Draco was the exception. He hated floo powder but loved a nice, warm fire, and would often just sit and stare at a fire until it either burned itself out or got out of hand. It wasn't long before Canitiem returned, bearing a small piece of parchment with Draco's name on it, and perched on the arm of the chair Draco was in. The blond took the parchment from the great bird, stroking its head as he unfolded it to read its contents.

_Thank you for this, Draco. I'll be there on time. This means quite a bit to me. Brilliant bird as well. I would expect nothing less from you. –Harry_

Draco sighed and tossed the parchment onto an end table, rubbing his eyes with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. Why was he helping Harry Potter, ultimate reminder of everything to do with Hogwarts, bane of his existence as a student there? He didn't know. But he did know that now he was stuck with this reminder, and no matter how snappy or rude he got, the stubborn Gryffindor would never leave him alone again. So Draco Malfoy sighed again, ran his hand over Canitiem's soft feathers once more, and retired to his bed, where he slept the troubled sleep of one who knows things he doesn't want to.

Ten o'clock in the morning was far earlier than Draco had wanted to wake up, but he was up half an hour before, so he decided to be efficient. He was going to have Harry help him bring some ingredients to the hospital, so as soon as he was dressed and somewhat presentable, he started to organize and pack up the ingredients they'd be bringing along with them. That took less time than he'd intended it to, so he replaced the logs in the fireplace and lit another fire, standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. Slowly, Draco moved from the doorway and into the kitchen, fully intending to make himself some breakfast. With a wave of his wand, all the ingredients he needed for pancakes floated out of the cupboards and refrigerator and landed serenely on the counter in front of him. He had originally intended to make the pancakes himself, but he suddenly didn't feel like putting in the effort, so he cast a spell that would make the pancakes for him and went back to the doorway to stare at the fire. Waiting gave him time to think, time for his mind to wander, and it took startlingly and alarmingly little time for it to wander to the box labeled "DANGER: DO NOT OPEN" and pry it open little by little.

The remembering wasn't bad at first; just a few images of the train ride to Hogwarts his first year, harmless little moments, and he wasn't all that afraid of what was to come. Then came the first of his bad decisions: Insulting Ronald Weasley that first day, and thus insulting Harry Potter, a potentially brilliant ally. At first, the mistakes came slowly, spaced relatively far apart, and he wasn't in that much danger, he thought, so he let it happen, not realizing that this was how he fell into the trap of the memories on previous occasions. Soon the mistakes started getting closer together, and bigger, and Draco realized that he was in some real danger from them, but couldn't quite realize what danger he was in. He could smell his pancakes cooking, they would be done soon. The mistakes were getting closer now, worse still, and Draco felt himself stumble into the kitchen, dizzy for reasons he couldn't quite comprehend – he was both in the kitchen of his flat just off Diagon Alley and in his fifth year at Hogwarts, when the truly serious mistakes had started – and he was grabbing at the cupboards as he remembered his mistakes, as he began to panic. Some part of his mind knew where the sleeping draughts were in the topmost cupboard, but that wasn't the part of his mind controlling his movements; he fumbled through the cupboards, burned his hand on the frying pan making his pancakes, became unaware of reality as he fell into the panic of memories that should have stayed buried. Sixth year at Hogwarts, more mistakes, worse mistakes, bigger panic, he would start screaming curses and destroying his apartment soon now he knew it and then—

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

Draco slowly became aware of his body trying to get to the door of his room through the somewhat quick effects of the sleeping draught, of falling to the ground in his kitchen, of the smell of fresh and perfect pancakes as he drifted off into a deep sleep that would last for hours.

Draco had owled Harry to tell him to just come in, the door would be unlocked, sometime in his stupor of staring at the fire, and so it was that Harry came right on into the flat, expecting to be greeted by a huffy and snarky blond. Instead, he smelled the stale aroma of uneaten pancakes and saw Draco's great owl perched on a counter in the kitchen, hooting and making quite a fuss over something. Cautiously, Harry made his way into the kitchen and nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw the one and only Draco Malfoy unconscious on the floor, a vial clutched in his right hand, a large blistered burn on his left hand. Without thinking, Harry knelt down and picked the blond up bridal-style, then proceeded to look for the bedroom. It didn't take long, and when he found it, he laid Draco down on the queen-sized bed gently, prying the vial from his hand and setting it on the nightstand. It took a while for Draco to wake up, and when he did, his expression seemed haunted and terrified.

"I-I made it…?" he whispered, staring at his bedroom door, confused. He remembered falling, and everything fading, and the smell of pancakes, but nothing of getting to his bed.

"To your bed?" Harry asked, his eyes on Draco. "No. I came in and found you lying on your kitchen floor. I figured you wouldn't be very comfortable there, it would be bad for your health, so I brought you into your room instead. Are you alright, Draco? What happened that I found you passed out in your kitchen?" Draco's head snapped towards Harry, startled by the brunette's presence in his bedroom. When it dawned on him what must have happened, he relaxed a bit, though it was obvious he would much rather face the Dark Lord than explain what had happened. They had both faced the Dark Lord, though, and they both knew that this would be easier.

"I remembered," Draco said simply, staring off into the distance. He wondered if the fire had gone out. "Or at least, I started to. All the mistakes, everything I did wrong, every last torturous thing. I started to panic. The first time I started to remember, I didn't realize what would happen, and…I killed a vagabond sleeping in a small alley off Knockturn Alley. I started screaming curses, I panicked so badly, and when I came to he was dead and I knew I had killed him so I ran. Ever since then, I've kept a store of relatively mild sleeping draughts in my cupboard, just in case I should start to remember with enough faculties to get the draught. I know I didn't finish…if I had, Canitiem might be dead, my flat might be destroyed…any number of things could have happened."

"Was the vagabond the only one you killed?" Harry asked, unable to take his eyes from the haunted, terribly self-blaming silver eyes that were staring blankly through the door. Draco shook his head and began to tremble slightly, and Harry knew the blond was probably terribly embarrassed by this show of weakness, this loss of composure, and respected him all the more for continuing.

"My mother is in Azkaban for life because it was her wand that killed my father, and she was too protective of me to let me take the blame for it," Draco admitted, still not looking at Harry. "I panicked when they started fighting. I…my mother's wand was on the floor near me. It was her wand that killed him. I remember she was staring at me when I came to, she looked horrified and sad at the same time, like she knew what she was going to do before it even came to that. I didn't do it on purpose. I was scared, and I wasn't…I wasn't myself. Do you understand? It's not like when a normal person panics and their heart just starts pounding and they're scared. Something takes over my body and I start screaming and instead of nonsense, curses come out and they fly everywhere. Sixth year…that's when it gets really bad. If I get past a certain point in that year, there's no stopping it. I can't stop it sometimes. I don't get the draught in time, it's usually when I'm not home. I have to fumble in my pocket and there's no way I can be that dexterous when I'm panicking."

"Draco…you should rest. I owled St. Mungo's, told them what happened, they said it's alright if we make the shift up tomorrow," Harry said, putting a hand over one of Draco's trembling hands, closing strength around grace and stilling its trembling. Draco looked at Harry, then looked away. He couldn't take the strength of the Gryffindor's worry. It would undo the structure of his mind.

"We could get ice cream tomorrow," Draco suggested, taking a deep breath to try and quell his tremors. "Before the shift. I wanted to run my errands tomorrow…I suppose I could get them done after work. Would you like to stay the night? Canitiem could get anything you need from your flat. She knows where it is." Harry shook his head.

"I'll stay the night, but there's no need to send your owl out," the brunette said, smiling softly. "I can get my things in the morning, whatever I'll need." He knew Draco couldn't be alone after something like this; no one could, especially not if they had spilled their soul directly after. Draco was a Malfoy, and Malfoys were always cool and calm; Draco was an anomaly, and that probably shamed the blond.

"Thank you, Harry," Draco said, quiet, almost to himself, as if it were an afterthought. Harry's smile deepened a little.

"For what?" the brunette asked, looking at Draco, who still wasn't returning his gaze.

"For…caring," Draco replied, risking a glance at Harry. The genuine concern he saw in the other male's eyes almost overwhelmed him. He was vulnerable here, in this state, after he'd panicked and done the only thing that helped. "For being honest." Harry was right: Draco was shamed by his weakness. It was part of why he'd sold Malfoy Manor; the shame was overwhelming in that place. He felt like he couldn't breathe as he felt his father's discipline from his childhood descend upon such a blatant weakness, trying to crush it and only succeeding in triggering it.

"Honesty is one thing I have always prided myself on," Harry assured this new friend, wishing there were more he could do to help. Draco started to get up, and waved away the help Harry started to offer. He knew his limits after taking the draught; he'd taken it before.

"At least let me get you something to eat," the blond offered. Harry had some misgivings about Draco moving about so soon after waking from a sleeping draught, but there didn't seem to be any problems, so he let it be.

"Alright. I'll eat anything," he said, trying to make it easier. Draco made his way carefully into the kitchen and cooked a simple dinner for the two of them to share, and they spent the evening talking and laughing and completely avoiding the topic of Hogwarts altogether. Harry slept in the guest bedroom, and neither would admit the thoughts that entered their minds as they fell asleep and dreamed.

In the morning, Draco was up first, and to distract himself from the memory of the dreams his mind had fabricated the night before, he busied himself making pancakes by hand instead of with magic. They didn't come out as perfectly as the ones he'd made with magic the day before, but they came out fine – he even made some with strawberries and some with chocolate chips – and by the time he was done, Harry was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at the pile of food and wondering how Draco thought that would feed only two people.

"Are you having a breakfast party?" the brunette asked, rubbing his hair in an effort to neaten it and only succeeding in making it messier. Draco started a little and looked over to Harry, realizing quickly that they were both dressed only in a T-shirt and boxers, before letting out a nervous laugh and returning to his task of finishing the last pancake.

"I needed to busy myself, and Canitiem likes pancakes, too, though she prefers hunting," he explained, moving the finished pancake onto the pile and the skillet and mixing bowl into the sink, where he cast a spell to wash them and the other implements involved in making the batter. "Do you like strawberry or chocolate chip pancakes, by any chance? There are plain ones as well, just in case."

"Chocolate chip pancakes are my favorite," Harry assured the blond, smiling. The answering grin made Harry's own smile widen, and before long, they were both sitting at Draco's kitchen table, piling their plates high with all three different kinds of pancakes. Draco had set aside a small pile for Canitiem, who was happily tearing at them with her beak.

"Did you sleep well?" Draco asked, taking a bite of a strawberry pancake that was more strawberry than pancake. Harry nodded, swallowing his mouthful of chocolate chip pancake before answering.

"Yes, I slept very well, thank you, and waking up to the smell of pancakes only made it better," he said, offering up a very charming smile marred only by bits of chocolate on his teeth. Draco laughed, and Harry made a big show of licking the chocolate off his teeth.

When the meal was finished, Harry Apparated home to change, and Draco decided to get into the shower while he awaited Harry's return. Once in the shower, he found there was too much time to let his mind wander to the dreams he'd had last night, and the resulting erection made him turn the water freezing cold – he didn't have time to take care of it the way he'd have liked to, Harry would be back soon, and gods he needed to stop thinking about Harry. By the time he got out of the shower, he was shivering from the cold and longing to go out to his favorite pub in wizarding London so he could get a good shag, but he knew he had other obligations to take care of first. He dressed in a relatively bright maroon jumper with black slacks and black shoes, his hair groomed to perfection in an effort to distract himself. By the time Harry arrived back at the flat, freshly showered and dressed in a dark green jumper with grey slacks and black shoes, Draco was stroking Canitiem's feathers and nibbling on leftover pancakes at a near-constant rate.

"Are you alright, Draco? You're scaring Canitiem," Harry said, going over and lifting Canitiem from the counter, letting her perch on his arm. Her feathers were ruffed, and her talons dug into Harry's arm through his jumper, but Harry didn't mind; she needed to relax, so he brought her over to the window and opened it, letting her fly out. Draco watched all this, still nibbling on pancake bits, and sighed.

"I'm sorry. The dreams I had last night won't leave me alone. They were good dreams, but I've other things to think about," he said, finally leaving the pancakes. "Shall we get to work?" He offered up a smile that was only half distracted, and Harry smiled back.

"Let's get going," Harry agreed, and together they Apparated to St. Mungo's.


	3. Madame Fortescue

Draco was glad he never left for St. Mungo's without at least two doses of Felix Felicis, because on Harry's first day at the hospital, there had been three cases of a rare disease whose only cure was luck, and on that particular day, he'd brought exactly three doses. By the time his and Harry's shift was over, he'd shed his jumper from all the running around he'd had to do. The others working alongside them hadn't batted an eye – they were used to Draco having to shed his shirt from having been called to opposite ends of the hospital and being forced to run due to the wards preventing Apparation within the building – but Harry had stared at Draco's maroon jumper sitting in the corner of the room in which they were working, and at Draco's bare, pale skin and wiry muscles. He'd nearly ruined the potion he'd been working on – it was an antidote to a relatively common poison, and a relatively simple brew – because of his distraction. A pretty French girl working on another batch of the same potion had warned him just in time, and his blush didn't fade until he left with Draco, who had thankfully put his shirt back on before they exited the building.

"I had no idea how important you are in the hospital," Harry mused as they walked away from the building, to give Draco some time to breathe and relax before Apparating back home. "I mean, there must be someone else who does what you do when you're not there, but—"

"They don't," Draco interrupted, absently fixing his hair, which had gotten slightly mussed. "I'm the only one they have currently with stores of Liquid Luck and other rarely needed potions and ingredients. They call me in when they need a dose and I'm not in, or send Aurelie to pick it up from my flat."

"Aurelie…is she the French girl with the big eyes and light hair?" Harry asked, recalling the girl who had saved the antidote he'd brewed. Draco nodded.

"She's second in command in our department," the blond explained, keeping one hand in his pocket, wrapped tightly around his sleeping draught. "I'm first, but that only applies to making and portioning potions. I have no control over who can or cannot receive doses of which potions. That's the Department Head, who controls doses and hiring within the department. The head of the hospital, who got me into the department, can override her judgment, and he's the one I went to to get you in." Harry blinked, a little stunned that Draco went that high up in the command chain to get him a job, do him a kindness. "It's rare that I have to use all the Liquid Luck I bring with me, and if I do, it's usually for three different causes. The disease that used it up today is exceedingly rare, but the three people who came in with it – a five-year-old Squib girl, her older brother, and their grandmother, who cares for them – were in very close proximity to each other for an extended period of time, so there's nothing to worry about, but it's still a rare occurrence."

"Sounds like you really know your way around the hospital and its goings-on," Harry observed, looking at Draco, whose pale hair was still slightly mussed. "It's impressive, the work you do." Draco shrugged.

"It's not that impressive. There's always been someone who does it," he said, stopping by the side of the path they'd been on, just a few feet from the hospital's gates. "I'm alright to Apparate now. Do you want to come with me on my errands? I usually get ice cream when I finish. If you'd rather not, I could owl you when I'm done so we can meet at Florean Fortescue's." Together, they Apparated to Diagon Alley while Harry thought it over.

"Owl me when you've finished. There are a few things I'd like to get done at my flat," the brunette said, smiling apologetically at Draco and leaving for his flat. When he got there, he glanced at his tawny owl, who was tearing apart some rodent or other on the kitchen floor, and sighed. One more thing to do before he met up with Draco for ice cream. He went to his room first, though, and caught a glance of himself in the mirror. That glance made him pause and stare at his reflection, trying to riddle something out, and it came to him suddenly and almost out of nowhere: He was wearing Slytherin colors. True, he was wearing darkened versions of the traditional colors, but if Ron or any other Weasley child were to see him, they would almost certainly berate him for wearing Slytherin colors and force him to change. Harry shook his head and went about his business, digging his old photograph album from the bottom of one of the drawers of his dresser and setting it on his nightstand, because he was certain that he would soon be starting to fill the last few pages with pictures that included Draco. By the time he heard the screech from his owl that alerted him to the presence of Draco's much larger owl, the rodent's blood and bones were gone from the kitchen floor, and the general clutter that had plagued his living room for months was mostly gone. He took the parchment from Canitiem's beak and opened it, reading Draco's tight, elegant lettering, even though he knew what it would say. He sent Canitiem back to Draco's flat without a response.

It was just as well that there was no response, because Draco was already in Florean Fortescue's by the time his owl reached Harry's flat. Instead of ordering his ice cream right away, Draco had decided to linger within the shop, admiring the decorations. When he felt a tap on his shoulder, he assumed it was Harry, and almost started speaking before he turned around to see a stout woman with a kind, grandmotherly face and shimmering silver hair pulled back into a loose bun at the crown of her head. It took Draco a moment to recognize her, but when he did, he felt exceedingly stupid.

"Madame Fortescue," he greeted, his eyes so wide it was a wonder they didn't fall right out of his head. The woman smiled at him and laughed, and it was a soothing sound, like when he was little and his mother would sing him lullabies to help him sleep after his father had scared him.

"Hello, Draco," she replied, offering him a hand-baked cookie. He took it. "I'd like to talk to you. One of the girls I hired has told me something interesting about your ice cream." Draco blinked once, uncomprehending, before he remembered that his ice cream was visually identical to Harry Potter's. He understood why she would want to talk to him; such similarities were not exactly common, and very few people knew what they meant. "Please, come into my office." She ushered him into a room that seemed more like a parlor than an office, complete with plush couches and a tea tray covered in cookies.

"This is about how similar my ice cream is to Harry Potter's, isn't it?" Draco asked, sitting down on the edge of a couch after Madame Fortescue had taken a seat in a dainty armchair. She nodded.

"Yes. One of the girls told me the two of you have identical ice creams, at least visually," she said, taking a cookie from the tray. "While that in itself isn't exactly rare, most people don't know what it means. It can mean any number of things, really, but I think I can narrow it down for the two of you. I trust you to tell Harry when the time is right."

"Why not tell him yourself, Madame?" Draco asked, nibbling on the cookie she'd given him. Madame Fortescue laughed again.

"Because, in these cases, it is only necessary – and, in fact, best – to tell one of the pair," she said, her eyes twinkling amidst the happy wrinkles that gave her face the appearance of having lived a long, happy life. "Listen carefully, Draco. The spells we use to create the individual servings here create servings as unique as the witches and wizards who purchase them. To say that they are unique to the witches and wizards who purchase them is not exactly true. Each serving is visually unique to what people each witch or wizard connects best with, and the ways in which they connect with others. That is not to say that people with visually identical ice creams connect best with the same kinds of people; it means, simply, that people with visually identical ice creams connect best with each other in some way or other. Archenemies have been known to have visually identical ice creams. The flavor reflects on the characteristics of the person who is perfect for that particular witch or wizard – this can mean many things. This can mean that person's soul mate, or best friend in the world, or perfect business partner, or perfect family member, such as the perfect son for a particular mother or the perfect sister for a particular brother. Often, the flavor will change over time as the witch or wizard changes, but in the case of soul mates, the flavors will remain identical forever. Identical flavor alone will not ever mean a pair is soul mates, though. Identical flavor and appearance together will mean soul mates, or at least a lasting bond, the strength of which will only grow over time."

"Why tell me all of that, Madame Fortescue? My ice cream and Harry's ice cream are only visually identical," Draco asked, since it appeared the woman was finished. He was about to go on when she silenced him with an upheld hand.

"Have you tasted his ice cream?" she asked, giving him a knowing look. Draco sighed.

"No, I haven't," he replied, knowing exactly what the woman was getting at. He gave her a withering look, but she kept smiling. "You know something I don't." She shrugged and offered him another cookie, her smile never faltering, not even for a second.

"It's for you to find out whether his ice cream tastes as good to you as it does to him," the kind old woman said, glancing out the window of her door and nodding towards it. "Here he is. Why don't you go now, hm? Bring him a cookie, too, while you're at it."

"You're just trying to make us both fat," Draco sighed, taking a cookie for himself and a cookie for Harry as he left the little parlor that passed for an office. "Hello, Harry. Cookie?" Harry looked startled when he looked to see Draco leaving Madame Fortescue's office, and looked disbelievingly at the cookies.

"We're in an ice cream shop, and you're offering me cookies?" Harry asked, though he did take a cookie. "What's going on here? Are you trying to fatten me up?" Draco had to laugh at this.

"I said the same thing to Madame Fortescue a moment ago," the blond said, smiling. "She recognized me from the hospital and asked me to sit and talk with her while I waited for you. Her sister was in a week or two ago, I had to bring her a sleeping draught. Let's get our ice cream, shall we?" Within five minutes, they were sitting outside, at the same table as the first time they'd had ice cream together, in the same seats, and Draco couldn't move his eyes from Harry's ice cream for more than five seconds.

"Draco, is there something wrong with my ice cream?" Harry asked, noticing Draco's fixation. Draco blinked a couple times, startled out of his thoughts, and met Harry's eyes steadily for the first time since they sat down.

"I know it's very unlikely, but…if our ice creams look so similar, I wonder how similar they taste?" Draco admitted, knowing it was halfway a lie and wishing he had the courage to tell the whole truth. Harry thought about the statement for a moment, then took a spoonful of his own ice cream and offered it to Draco.

"Give it a try, then, and let me have a taste of yours," the brunette said, and Draco took a spoonful of his ice cream and traded it for the spoonful of Harry's. They both hesitated a moment, and they both let out a nervous laugh. "I don't know why I should be nervous about this. It's just ice cream, nothing life-changing." Draco chuckled at this, because for him, it would be.

"Let's try it, then," he said, and before either of them could stall further, they both ate the spoonful of ice cream they were holding. Draco closed his eyes, and his brow furrowed, as he tried to remember if they had actually switched spoons. Yes, they had; he could remember that their hands had brushed together as they made the exchange, and that he'd been glad they were sitting because Harry's expressive eyes and fit body and soft skin were driving Draco's hormones wild. He was, after all, still only nineteen. The facts were indisputable now: Draco and Harry had the exact same ice cream, down to the texture of the stuff, and, according to Florean Fortescue, the two were soul mates. "They're exactly the same in every respect…" These words made Harry jump a little, for he'd been caught in his own thoughts.

"Do you know something I don't, Draco?" he asked, noticing that they didn't bother to switch spoons back and that Draco looked haunted and conflicted.

"I do, but I don't think I should tell it to you. At least, I shouldn't tell it to you just yet," the blond replied, staring at Harry's ice cream and wishing he could dive into it and never resurface. Soul mates. He didn't want to believe it was true, and he wanted to tell Harry to confirm the falsehood of such a thing, but he didn't dare. It wasn't the right time. Instead, he forced himself to meet Harry's eyes, to move his gaze from the suddenly fascinating dish of ice cream to the glittering green eyes of the wizard it belonged to. "I'll tell you when the time is right." Had Harry been less mature, Draco was sure he would have pouted; but he didn't, opting instead to stare, as Draco had, into his dish of ice cream.

"You know it means something significant and you're scared to tell me because it might ruin our friendship," he mused, poking at his ice cream with Draco's spoon. They hadn't switched spoons again; their ice creams were exactly the same, so why bother? "I know you're probably doing the right thing here, but…I can't help but wonder." Draco watched Harry, feeling like he'd just kicked a puppy that had done nothing other than get excited and happy to see its master, and sighed, his eyes falling to Harry's ice cream again.

"I'll tell you this much. It means we're going to be in each others' lives for a long time," he conceded, telling a partial truth. It was better than watching Harry stare almost miserably into his ice cream. They both raised their eyes at the same time, and their gazes locked almost immediately. Draco was struck so forcefully with the sensation of time doubling upon itself that he felt as if he'd been dealt a physical blow – he wasn't just seeing Harry Potter sitting across the table from him; he was seeing Harry Potter at eleven years old, standing up for a friend he'd only just met. Harry saw a look of panic steal over Draco's features and was immediately by the blond's side, his hands on Draco's shoulders, trying to anchor him in reality.

"Draco. Draco, can you hear me? Look at me, Draco," he urged, squeezing Draco's shoulders, relieved to see Draco's silver eyes meet his and hold them. "You're here, in Diagon Alley, with me, your friend, and we're having ice cream outside Florean Fortescue's. Whatever else you're seeing isn't real. You're here, in Diagon Alley, and nothing here will hurt you, Draco. You're a good man who saves lives at St. Mungo's, despite the mistakes you made when you were young and impressionable. You're here, I'm here, and you're alright." As he spoke, Harry watched the panicked look start to leave Draco's eyes, watched the reality start to creep back into their silver depths. "You're alright, Draco. I won't let anything happen to you. You're safe."

"Thank you, Harry," Draco said, feeling like he'd just been pulled from the edge of an inferno that had already started to singe his hair. Harry smiled and let out a relieved sigh, going back to his seat.

"That was different from the other times, wasn't it?" he asked, remembering what Draco had told him the day before, that it usually got bad around sixth year. This time, it had seemed awful from the start. Draco nodded.

"It was like time was doubling on itself," the blond explained, looking dejectedly down at his ice cream. "It was terrifying."

"Do you want me to leave?" Harry asked, curling his fingers around the glass ice cream dish. "It seems like I brought on this…whatever it was."

"No!" Draco barked out, startling himself with the force of his objection. "No. It was some freak thing…but you brought me out of it. It wasn't your fault. It probably would have happened anyway, and if you weren't here, I could have killed someone, or worse. I don't know what would have happened. But it was you who stopped it. Don't go." Harry smiled softly, and Draco tentatively smiled back.

"I'll stay, then, if it's that important to you," the brunette said, picking up his spoon again – rather, Draco's spoon that he still hadn't returned – and resumed eating his ice cream. Draco followed suit, and they entered into a comfortable silence, which left Draco time to muse.

_This is why Madame Fortescue told me what she did. She knew it would come to this. Maybe we can just be friends for the rest of our lives and be content with that._ But Draco knew, despite all the wishing in the world, that it could never be that simple. _He_ wasn't that simple. Maybe Harry would help him overcome his panic. Maybe Harry would become his coping mechanism. But that sounded too harsh, too mechanical, so Draco abandoned the thought.

_Maybe he'll save me from the panic of memory._


	4. Feelings

They finished their ice cream in relative silence; whatever had caused Draco's earlier episode was gone, and he felt fine for the rest of the afternoon. They spent that time together, each for their own reasons: Harry because he was worried that if he left Draco alone, there would be another episode and something would go horribly wrong; and Draco because he wanted more time with Harry to try and sort out what merit there was to Madame Fortescue's words based on his own feelings. They wound up wandering down some side streets together, not really going anywhere, just enjoying each other's company.

"Really? They've figured out how to test for that?" Harry asked, in response to some of the research Draco had read into the origins of magic in biology, among other sources. Draco nodded, his hands in his pockets so he wouldn't be tempted to take Harry's hand.

"Yeah, a lot of animals have some sort of magic resembling ours, including cats and owls, and even toads," he said, recalling the book he'd read on the subject. "Didn't you ever wonder how owls always managed to get letters to the right people? They use magic." He was walking slightly behind and to the right of Harry, not because he felt somehow inferior or because Harry was leading the way – there was no way to lead – but because he had simply gravitated that way, and the view he was supplied from his position would haunt his dreams in some very imaginative ways. Harry was, thankfully, facing forward at all times, and wouldn't catch Draco staring.

"I did wonder, but I never really gave it much thought. I always used to think they just knew somehow, and didn't question it," Harry mused, staring off into the distance ahead of them. Their distraction was the only way neither of them saw the black cat that streaked out from one of the doorways they passed, right into Harry's path. He tripped, and Draco was so startled that he almost fell as well, but the blond recovered his faculties a split second before Harry did and so caught himself on the doorway the cat had leapt from and caught Harry in his free arm, balancing the brunette by his waist. Harry was so close to the ground he could put his hands on the stones and his arms would be bent, but at least he hadn't hit the ground.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Draco asked as he started to fumble the two of them to their feet. It was clumsy business – Harry managed to turn around, and they were face-to-face, making it hard for Draco to think clearly. He managed to get his feet under him enough that he didn't have to hold onto the doorway anymore, and so he had both of his arms to help Harry to his feet. Draco was taller, easily, but Harry was built more athletically, so they were matched weight-for-weight, which made it both easier for Draco and slightly clumsier.

"I'm alright," Harry replied as – together – they managed to both straighten, and found themselves extremely close to each other. Draco guessed there was less than five inches between their faces, and he could feel that their bodies were touching in multiple places. Neither male moved for what felt like an eternity before Draco took a step back and cleared his throat.

"Good. I'm glad you're not hurt," the blond said, forcing himself not to blush. Harry was very red, and was apparently making no effort to hide it. Instead, the brunette simply stared at Draco, almost uncomprehendingly.

"What just happened…?" he asked, falling into step with Draco as he began to walk again. Draco shrugged, and even that simple action seemed graceful to Harry, who didn't know what to make of the thought.

"We both fell, I caught you and righted us, and we started walking again," Draco said, summing up what had just happened in the simplest language possible. "If you want specifics, you tripped on a cat, which sent you sprawling, and I was so startled I lost my footing, caught myself on a doorway, and managed to catch you before you hit the pavement." They both fell silent for a moment, but then Draco laughed, and Harry gave him a quizzical look. "It just proves some of what the researchers were saying about cats – they have magical timing, especially when there's something someone should know. I think the cat was trying to tell us something, but what, I couldn't fathom." Harry wasn't smiling.

"Might it have something to do with what Madame Fortescue told you today, before I got to the shop?" he asked, sounding slightly hurt. Draco felt bad, but still he felt it wasn't the right time to tell Harry what he knew. He actually wished he could forget about what the old woman had told him.

"It might, but if this is your way of trying to get it out of me, you're out of luck," Draco replied, his smile having melted completely away. "It's not the right time to tell you. I don't know when will be, but we'll both know when it is, and you know perfectly well it isn't the right time." Harry sighed, knowing Draco was right and wishing he wasn't.

"I know. I'm sorry for pushing, it's just…it feels like you're keeping a big secret from me," he said, watching the ground as he walked. Draco hesitated for a moment, then reached out and put a consoling hand on Harry's shoulder.

"We'll be in each other's lives till the day we die, I promise you that, Harry," Draco reassured the brunette, wishing there were more he could say. "What Madame Fortescue told me guarantees that. I'll never be able to shake you, and you won't be able to get rid of me. We're stuck with each other forever." That seemed to ease Harry's mind, because the brunette smiled tentatively, and Draco returned the smile, glad to do so.

"Would you like to come to my flat? It's not quite as neat as yours, and my owl isn't as brilliant as yours, but it's comfortable, and I'm sure you'll be alright," Harry offered, his smile growing more sure and friendly. Draco nodded.

"Sure. I'd like that," the blond answered, believing what Harry said to the fullest extent that he was able. Harry smiled, and together, they found their way to the brunette's flat, which was – as promised – not quite as neat as Draco's. The tawny owl in the kitchen was far plainer than Canitiem, and far more contrary. Draco discovered the bird's temper when he tried to greet it neutrally and non-threateningly, but the bird still bit his finger and drew blood. Harry laughed.

"Here, give me your hand, I'll heal it for you," he offered, holding out his hand. Draco placed his bleeding, graceful hand in Harry's strong, steady hand, and he felt somewhere in the back of his mind that he probably wouldn't want to take his hand from Harry's till long after the healing was finished. Harry took out his wand and murmured a minor healing spell that would heal the shallow wound, and another that would clean up the blood. They both watched as the wound closed cleanly, with no trace of scarring, and the blood disappeared to a place known only by the gods. They both stood staring at their hands, joined there, with a sort of transfixed wonder at the gentleness of Harry's strong hand, sort of caressing Draco's long, graceful fingers with a care that shouted of attachment beyond friendship. After a few moments, the trance broke with a jolt and they both snatched their hands back as if burned.

"Thank you," Draco muttered, rubbing his hand. He could still feel Harry's hand against it, and it felt wonderful. Maybe Madame Fortescue wasn't just a crazy old bat rambling about ice cream; maybe she knew something that Draco and Harry didn't. The thought plagued him, renewed at every turn the evening took: They had decided to watch some Muggle telly programs, and had started the programs on opposite ends of Harry's couch, but by the end, had met in the middle and were leaning comfortably against each other; Harry had offered to get some tea, and without thinking about it, had brewed Draco's favorite lavender tea, even though he couldn't possibly have known it was Draco's favorite; they decided to make dinner, and discovered that the ingredients left in Harry's sparse store were just enough to make just enough of their shared favorite dish for each to eat his full and no more. These little coincidences weren't lost on either Harry _or_ Draco, and they both reached the same conclusion as the other, though Draco's conjecture was more complete: Something in the universe was trying to tell them that they were perfect for each other's lives. Draco knew that this meant soul mates; but the friendship was too new to reveal it, too green to bear the weight of such an admittance. As they were setting up the guest bedroom for Draco to sleep in, Harry couldn't keep his mind from wandering to alternate means of occupying the bed, and wished that his jumper were longer, or that his mind didn't have the teenage tendency to wander to such things still. Draco noticed the bulge in Harry's pants, but didn't comment.

"Are you sure you don't mind sleeping in the guest bedroom?" Harry asked, for perhaps the tenth time. "I'd be happy to let you have my bed for the night…" Draco sighed.

"It's called a _guest_ bedroom for a reason, Harry. I'm your guest, and I'm perfectly happy to sleep here for the night," he reassured Harry, also for perhaps the tenth time. "Please don't ask again, I'll be fine. I'm not picky about such things." Harry looked like he wanted to press the issue, but thankfully for Draco, he didn't. They finished making up the bed, and Draco stretched, catlike in both his grace and the thoroughness of his stretch. "Shall we get some sleep?" Harry nodded, stifling a yawn, and left the room. Draco stripped down to his boxers and climbed into the bed, his clothes neatly folded on the dresser. He tried to control his thoughts, to lash them down so he could get to sleep, but after at least half an hour trying unsuccessfully to calm his mind, he found it would be much easier to just let the gutter-thoughts be, let them wash over him. If he did, he could fall into pleasant dreams, at least, and magic would easily clean the evidence so it would be as if it never happened. He dreamed of Harry's body, muscles, every last inch of him, sure somewhere in the back of his mind that the real thing would be so much more delicious than what he dreamed up, if he ever got the chance to taste it.

Harry's dreams were of a similar sort to Draco's, though they weren't particularly restful: They woke him in the middle of the night, and he found himself in a pleasant sweat with a slightly unpleasant feeling of loss at the wonder that Draco had been in his dreams. He knew dreams were hardly ever a true reflection of reality, but the dream had been so realistically wonderful he wanted to believe it was a truthful reflection of reality. He couldn't, he knew he couldn't, but he wanted it badly. He decided to make a fire call to Hermione. She'd know what to do, even if he woke her from sleep. He put his glasses back on and made his way to the fireplace in his living room, lighting a fire and casting the proper spell. Her face appeared almost immediately in the flames, wide awake, as if she hadn't gone to sleep yet.

"Harry!" she said, offering him a smile, which he returned. "Is something the matter, Harry? You don't usually call in the middle of the night." Harry sighed.

"I told you how Draco arranged a job for me at St. Mungo's," he started, sitting on the floor in front of the fire, one knee propped up by his chest. "We're becoming friends, and quickly, too. He doesn't seem at all like he was at Hogwarts. He's truly changed, and…let me start by saying I don't want to ruin any of the friendships I've got now, but—" Hermione let out a choked sound that was somewhere between a giggle and a snort, effectively interrupting Harry's sentence and train of thought. He wasn't about to finish, though, because it was obvious she knew what he was about to say.

"Harry, I don't mean to laugh, but…are you sure about this? About how you feel?" she asked, trying desperately to control herself. It worked rather well – she and Draco could give each other a run for their money in a contest of regaining lost composure. Harry sighed again.

"I don't know, Mione. If I knew, I wouldn't call you. I wore Slytherin colors today," he said, seemingly at random, but Hermione knew its relevance. "I offered him tea, and without knowing what he liked, I brewed his favorite tea. Our ice cream at Florean Fortescue's is identical all the way down to the texture and temperature, Hermione. It tastes exactly the same, looks exactly the same, everything." Hermione let out a little gasp.

"That's impossible, though!" she exclaimed, a little loudly.

"I know, and Draco knows something about it, but he can't tell me. He says it's not the right time for it, and I know he's right, but it's driving me crazy," he replied.

"It sounds like he's worried about the same thing you are – he doesn't want to ruin his friendship with you, Harry, just like you don't want to ruin your friendship with him, or with Ron and me," she told him, and her calm tone soothed Harry's nerves. "Give it time, let the friendship grow and bloom. You'll know when the time is right to admit your feelings, and for Draco to admit what he knows. You need to be patient." Harry nodded, knowing she was right.

"Thanks, Mione," he said, and after some cordialities, they ended the fire call. He stayed up a while more, staring at the moon through the window, as if it would whisper answers to him if he stared at it long enough. He stood there for the better part of two hours, after which he returned to his bedroom, exhausted and a lot more relaxed than when he'd left his bed. Hermione was always a great help in these matters. He wondered how he'd ever be able to manage without her, and wished that he'd never have to find out. He fell quickly back to sleep, his dreams much tamer than his first bout of sleep.

When Draco woke in the morning, he sensed that a change had taken place over the course of the night, but he couldn't place what, and didn't want to speculate too much into the matter. Instead, he spelled the sheets clean and dressed himself in clothes he summoned magically from his flat, sending his clothes from the day before back to the flat. When he left the guest bedroom, he found his way to the kitchen, hoping to find Harry there. Instead, the kitchen was empty, so Draco sat down in one of the chairs, folding his hands on the table in front of himself and thinking, trying to riddle out what had changed. It was subtle – something in Harry must have changed, he knew it…and then he placed it. That awkward air that neither of them had noticed seemed to have lifted. Harry felt more comfortable with the way things were, even if he wouldn't admit it. Draco smiled, glad he'd riddled it out and that he'd survived the night without any horrible incidents. At least, he smiled until Harry came running into the kitchen, clutching a piece of parchment and looking wild.

"It's Ron. He's at St. Mungo's, something happened, he's badly hurt," the brunette panted out. Draco stood quickly, heading towards the door.

"I'll get some potions from my flat and meet you at the hospital," he said curtly, glancing over his shoulder back at Harry. "Get dressed before you go, Harry. They don't take kindly at the hospital to anybody, hero or not, showing up in boxers."


	5. Weasel Hearts

It wasn't just Ron Weasley who was hurt. Quite a few professional Quidditch players were badly injured in some way or another, and a large number of fans as well. St. Mungo's was _crawling_ with them, full nearly to capacity with people who'd been injured in what had to be the largest accident in Quidditch history. The Cannons had been playing against the Bulgarian team, and there had been some kind of enormous series of explosions at the stadium. Draco had been forced to Apparate back to his flat with a crate and collect his stores of Felix Felicis, several different burn potions, sleeping potions, and a specific kind of trauma potion that wasn't often needed. It took two trips, and that was with Harry's help and a second crate. Draco was called from ward to ward, delivering potions to rooms. He wasn't about to ask Harry for help, as Harry was tending to Ron and was probably in a large amount of emotional distress, which wouldn't help anybody. Draco's shirt wound up, again, discarded in the room where he worked, and by the time he was done, his hair was in such a state of disarray his father was likely turning animatedly in his grave. The Dark Mark on his arm, which had faded considerably after Voldemort's death, burned slightly from all the exertion, and he was breathing very heavily, despite being quite in shape. He stumbled back to the workroom he shared with the rest of the potions staff at the hospital and collapsed onto the floor, sweaty and out of breath and physically exhausted. Aurelie wasn't there, nor was anyone else, so he wasn't disturbing anyone's work; they all had the day off, and Draco was the only one who'd come in that day to help.

"Are you alright, Draco?" a voice asked from the open doorway. Draco was too tired to place it on sound alone, so he sat up a bit, supporting himself on shaky arms, to see who had spoken. It was, of course, Harry, his face concerned. Draco lay back down, his chest heaving.

"Six hundred and fifty-seven stairs from the bottom floor to the top, at the sprint," Draco said, his voice devoid of its usual timbre and inflection. "Less than a hundred rooms empty. Fifty dead, twenty-seven with injured families. Thirty comatose from their injuries. Me the only one here to help, because I can and because I was already here."

"Do you want me to take you back to your flat?" Harry asked, stepping inside the room and closing the door so that no one would see Draco in such bad shape. The blond grunted. "Ron's doing much better, they're sending him home, and Hermione told me to check on you and see if you needed help…"

"If you could, that would be wonderful," Draco said, closing his eyes. "Who in Merlin's name thought it was a good idea to make me the only one in charge of potions today…?" Harry chuckled and got his arms under Draco's shoulders and knees, lifting the blond bridal-style and carrying him out of the hospital, completely forgetting about his shirt. As he was walking, he glanced down and noticed – quite suddenly – that Draco had no shirt on, and that all of the blond's muscles were highlighted by a thin covering of sweat. Harry blushed a bright red and snapped his gaze back up, shifting his hold on Draco so the blond wouldn't feel his uncomfortable erection. He made his way to the closest point from which he could Apparate to Draco's flat and did so, taking the blond with him. Once there, he brought Draco to his bedroom and laid him down on the bed, not entirely sure whether or not he was conscious.

"Draco? Are you awake?" he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed and focusing on the beautiful, peaceful face of the man who had been the bane of his existence for seven years.

"Halfway," Draco mumbled, the word slightly slurred by his exhaustion. "Is there something you need…?" Even slurred, Draco's speech was clearly understandable, and Harry started to wonder what the blond would be like drunk, and if that would make any difference whatsoever.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Is there anything in particular that _you_ need?" Harry asked, starting to get up. Draco tiredly shook his head.

"No. Just stay where you are for now. We can go out later to celebrate the fact that the hospital didn't kill me, once I've had a good rest," the blond replied, cracking one eye open to look at Harry, who sat back down. It seemed like a great effort, using energy he just didn't seem to have. "Once you're sure I'm asleep, go back to your own flat and I'll send Canitiem when I've woken up." Harry sighed and shook his head, not moving from where he was seated.

"No. I'll stay here with you, in case anything happens. You used up all your sleeping potions at St. Mungo's today, remember?" he said, not taking his eyes from Draco's face. Draco groaned and closed his eye again.

"I'd forgotten momentarily. Gave the last one to some poor old blighter who'd had his face half blown off, along with some Felix Felicis," the blond recalled sleepily, seeming to relax into the pillow, his words trailing off slightly. He'd finally fallen asleep. Harry relaxed a little, too, watching Draco sleep peacefully. He didn't leave his post so long as Draco remained asleep, and was glad for it: Draco went rigid at one point during his sleep, his back arched as if he were in pain. Harry jumped up, putting his hands firmly on Draco's shoulders.

"You're OK, Draco! It's just a dream, it's not real, whatever's happening _isn't real_, you're not hurt!" he practically shouted, scant few inches between his face and Draco's. The blond's eyelids fluttered for a moment, then settled closed again as Draco relaxed into peaceful sleep again, though Harry didn't take his hands from the blond's shoulders as he tried to get a grip over himself and the thoughts running rampant through his mind. He was so close to Draco, their _lips_ were so close, he could just lean forward a little and their lips would touch, but he couldn't do that because Draco was asleep and they were _just friends, _nothing more. It took the better part of an hour, but Harry managed to sit back down, unable to take his eyes from Draco's perfect lips, parted slightly in sleep. Harry remained there, staring, until Draco finally woke up.

"Did anything happen while I was asleep…?" the blond asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes with one hand as he sat up and supported himself on the other arm.

"You started to have a nightmare, but I shouted at you that it wasn't real and you relaxed again," Harry replied, shrugging sheepishly. Draco blinked uncomprehendingly.

"You mean to tell me that you shouted at me…and I didn't wake up?" he asked, staring at Harry with wide silver eyes that were desperately trying to take in the situation but seemed unable to do so. Harry nodded.

"It seemed like my owl could be gouging your eyes out and you would've stayed asleep. Canitiem is too well-mannered to do anything like that," the brunette said, getting up from where he'd been sitting, rubbing one arm to get some feeling back, considering it had fallen asleep and gone numb. "Is there anywhere you had in mind to go out celebrating?" Draco smiled, running a hand through his hair to give it some semblance of order.

"The Three Broomsticks doesn't hate me too much. They've managed to forgive me, even," the blond replied, starting to get up. "I was thinking we could go there, get roaring drunk, and try to find a good shag. What do you say? I think we've earned it, what with all our hard work today." Harry's sheepish grin turned into an amused smirk as he caught Draco's half-joke.

"Alright, but only if it's a separate shag for each of us," Harry replied, finally tearing his gaze away from Draco's face and down one wiry arm, down to where the faded Dark Mark writhed on the blond's wrist. He could barely see it, but it was there. He shuddered internally at all it represented.

The Three Broomsticks wasn't very crowded at all. In fact, most of Hogsmeade seemed deserted, like a ghost town. The Hogs Head had about four patrons total, and the Three Broomsticks only fared slightly better because of the addition of Harry and Draco, the latter having finally donned a shirt. They sat in a corner, disappointed that the place wasn't livelier.

"It could be that it's not the best weather, and it's only eight in the evening," Harry reasoned, already working on his third tankard of ale, to Draco's amazement. The blond had only downed a single tankard of the stuff so far, and was slowly nursing a second. Harry's first two tankards had disappeared rather quickly, but the third seemed to go more slowly; the brunette was a little tipsy, and seemed to know it.

"Eight in the evening usually sees more of a crowd than this, though," Draco argued, sipping at his own ale. Harry had been surprised the blond had a taste for the stuff; Draco had explained that he preferred it to wine because he could drink more of it without getting as drunk, and the taste was better besides. Harry shrugged and took a rather large gulp of ale. As the evening wore on, however, more and more people came into the pub, and many got far drunker than Harry and Draco in a far shorter span of time. Harry, though, to his own credit, did at one point down about seven tankards of ale within an hour. As he finished the seventh, Draco took the tankard from him and sent the attendant away.

"He's far too drunk, he's probably going to pass out if he drinks another tankard. I need to make some Pepper-Up Potions tonight, he'll be hung over to all hell," the blond muttered, watching Harry's delirious grin. It was slightly infectious, though, Draco soon found, because he was smiling as well.

"H-h-hey, Draco," Harry slurred, leaning across the table towards the blond. "Let's go back to your flat. We can have some more…some more fun there." He hiccupped in the middle of his sentence, and so backed up a bit, as if it would help. Draco, inebriated as he was, saw nothing wrong with this.

"I'll handle the magic in getting us there. You might Splinch us to death, drunk as you are," the blond said, still smiling. They walked out of the pub together, Harry on Draco's arm and stumbling the whole way, especially after they Apparated back to Draco's flat. It didn't matter, though, because Draco's arms were around him and they were soon in the bedroom. Their lips crashed together in drunken lust, dredged up from the very deepest parts of their beings by alcoholic little demons. Their clothes were torn from their bodies in a frenzy, revealing smooth flesh and obnoxious erections. Apparently, alcohol wasn't a problem for Harry's cock, and the two of them ground their erections together with wanton abandon, eventually stumbling to the bed and collapsing on it, their lips fighting against each other and trying desperately never to lose contact. Harry reluctantly separated their lips to give himself a chance to breathe.

"Gods, Draco," he slurred, still quite drunk. "F-fuck me…" Draco paused for a moment, straddling Harry's hips and pinning his shoulders, thinking with the small bit of rationality the alcohol had allowed him to keep. Harry was here, in his bed, naked, begging to be fucked. Wasn't that what Draco wanted, at some primitive, base level? Yes, yes, that's exactly it. Shoving his reason to the side, Draco nodded, reaching over to fumble a small jar of oil out of his nightstand. Harry was too drunk for Draco to waste time with any preparations beyond the oil at this point, so the blond quickly coated his erection, replaced the jar on his nightstand, and positioned the tip of his erection against Harry's entrance.

"Ready?" he asked, and the answering look – though, truth be told, even _that_ was slurred – told him he was an idiot for asking. Carefully but not too slowly, Draco sheathed himself within Harry's delicious arse, a string of undignified curses flying from his lips at the beauty of the sensation, warm and tight and absolutely perfect. He leaned on his hands, which were braced at either side of Harry's head, and started to rock his hips, forcing himself to remain under control as Harry moaned underneath him and the brunette's muscles clenched wonderfully around his erection. Draco managed to build up a steady rhythm, and their lips crashed together again as they both rode the drunken pleasure. Harry had to tear his lips away from Draco's and bury his face in the blond's pale shoulder, sinking his teeth into the skin to keep himself rooted in what was going on. The pain made Draco hiss, and his steady rhythm became erratic and quick, the thrusts of his hips sharp and precise as he reached down to stroke Harry's neglected erection, applying the same amount of pressure as the brunette's muscles were applying on his cock. Harry released Draco's shoulder from the grip of his teeth, leaving shallow cuts in the shapes of teeth that would be easily hidden by clothing. "H-Harry…ngh, gods, Harry…"

"Draco, I can't…p-please, I-I need to…" Harry whined, the words slurred together indistinguishably. Draco knew what was being said, however, and gave a quick nod, telling Harry that if he needed to, he could and should. It took one more thrust, one more stroke, and Harry came, screaming a badly slurred version of Draco's name, and the grip of Harry's muscles drove Draco over the edge, causing him to spill his seed deep within Harry Potter's delicious arse. As soon as all was quiet and calm again and Draco had pulled out, Harry was unconscious. Draco retrieved his wand from the pile that his clothes had become and muttered a spell to clean them both, and sighed as Harry didn't even so much as twitch.

When he woke up the next morning, Harry found himself in an unfamiliar bed with a horrible hangover and clad only in his boxers, which wasn't really all that unusual, except for the fact that his arse was very sore and he didn't know why. He glanced at the nightstand and only then realized he didn't have his glasses on. Their blurry form sat directly next to what appeared to be a vial, and he put his glasses on to discover that next to the vial was a note.

_Harry, you passed out last night after we'd left the Three Broomsticks and I took it upon myself to make a fresh supply of Pepper-Up Potions, considering the fact that you were too pissed to bother remaining conscious. If you need more, they're on the middle shelf of the cupboard below and to the left of the sink in the kitchen. Take the one I've left you first – it's a larger dose than the others because you'll need it to get over that first sting of hangover – and, if you need more, find me first and I'll tell you how many you can safely take. Draco._

It took a while due to his pounding headache, but Harry managed to read the entire note and remember its contents. The Three Broomsticks…he couldn't remember leaving, or winding up in Draco's flat, or anything after about his sixth overall tankard of ale. He downed the vial of potion, and was relieved to find that it did the trick quite nicely in relieving his headache and sluggishness. He stumbled out of what he thought to be the guest bedroom and into Draco's kitchen, leaning on the doorframe and trying to make sense of Draco Malfoy, sitting calmly at his kitchen table, cutting up what appeared to be either a ferret or an opossum, Harry couldn't tell which from the angle he was at.

"Glad to see you're up, Harry," the blond said, not looking up from whatever rodent he was cutting the innards out of. "How are you feeling?"

"Alright. The Pepper-Up Potion helped, though, it felt like someone was setting off firecrackers in my skull at first," Harry admitted, sitting down on the blissfully cushioned empty seat next to Draco. "I can't seem to remember much of last night, though, and I'm right sore…did something happen that I should be remembering?" Harry didn't notice, but Draco stiffened slightly, his movements becoming less elegant and more rigid. He bit the inside of his lip to keep himself from reacting too strongly.

"You met a bloke in the pub, tall, tan, blond, very charming, and then you spent a good hour or two in the back room of the Three Broomsticks with him, screaming your thoughts for the world to hear," he said matter-of-factly. Harry figured he said it that way because it would be easier than lying about it, but he couldn't see the real truth.

"And how did I wind up here and not at his place?" the brunette asked, staring at the growing pile of rodent organs on the table next to what was clearly weasel, not a ferret or an opossum.

"He passed out in the back room, and you stumbled out, had a few more tankards of ale, and couldn't be trusted to get yourself home in a single piece," Draco replied, removing the last organ – the heart – from the poor weasel and placing it on top of the pile. He'd accidentally stabbed it with the knife he was using, but it was still usable for potions, even though there was a comparatively large gash going through both ventricles and the right atrium. "I brought you back here for your own safety."

"I didn't…vomit on anything, did I?" Harry asked, genuinely concerned. Draco shook his head, staring into the empty weasel carcass for a moment before tossing it to Canitiem, who happily started tearing the muscles from the tiny bones.

"No, you didn't vomit at all, surprisingly. You have a very strong stomach," the blond answered, going over to a cabinet and pulling out first a fresh pair of gloves to replace the ones he was wearing, as well as several glass jars. Each one had a label on it in Draco's tight, elegant handwriting, and it was then that Harry noticed several more piles of weasel organs on the table, each with the heart on top. Draco returned to the table and began sorting the organs into their respective jars, putting the hearts in first. Only the last one, the most recently removed little heart, had any kind of marring from a slip of Draco's knife – not a single other heart, or any other organ, was damaged in any way whatsoever.


	6. Cosmic Shift

The day of the weasel heart incident, Harry had work, and so left Draco's flat late in the morning, before lunch. Draco had been given the day off due to his efforts the day before, and so had time to work on anything he chose to do. He'd chosen a ride on his broom, which he felt might clear his head a little. All it did was give him time to stew and brood, and when Harry attempted to return to Draco's flat, he'd been propelled out, under the pretense that Draco had work to do and couldn't be bothered to entertain company at the same time. In reality, Draco just didn't want to deal with having to stare at Harry's beautiful face, his beautiful body, which he had seen without the obstruction of clothing, all of it, and keep himself from taking what he wanted for a second time. The timing of the whole thing had been off, so very _off_, and Draco couldn't stand his mistakes. He couldn't let this be another of his mistakes, though; he couldn't. At the time, he was still out of sleeping potions, so when the memories came back, he could do nothing but lock himself in an empty room as quickly as possible and ride out the awful waves of it, blasting holes in the walls and ceiling and floor, hitting himself with all manner of horrible curses, and screaming himself hoarse. The Dark Mark writhing on his arm burned excruciatingly the whole way through, until he finally just completely passed out.

Two weeks passed after that episode, and Draco had both replenished his stores of potions and pushed Harry Potter as far away as he could for the time being. He'd even managed to switch his shifts at St. Mungo's, though Aurelie would pass him messages from Harry every now and again, looking like she wished there were more she could do to repair Harry and Draco's friendship. To her, it was obvious that the two fancied each other, but she could do nothing about it. She wasn't close enough to either of them.

"I hate to see you so sad, Draco," she said one day as she worked beside him, her French accent barely noticeable after years of practice. "You've been like this since before you switched your shift. He is very hurt, you know. He doesn't understand. He told me he wants to know why you're being so cruel to him when you promised you'd be in each other's lives till death. His words, I swear." Draco sighed, casting the proper spell over his potion and letting it sit to brew.

"It's complicated, Aurelie, and I can't tell him fully why. The timing is off, it's wrong, it's all wrong," he said, sitting down on a tiny stool on the floor. Aurelie sat on the floor next to him, leaving her potion to heat up.

"He thinks you are mad at him for his behavior when drunk," the little French girl said, her pale curls bouncing as she tossed them over her shoulder. "He thinks you disapprove of what he did." Draco growled. He wanted to be able to confide in Aurelie, but he also wanted to keep as much a secret as he possibly could. He needed to tell someone, though, and she was the best choice.

"He told you what I told him happened?" he asked, to make sure. Aurelie nodded. Draco looked around the room, though he knew the two of them were the only ones in for the day. "Can you keep a secret, from Harry specifically?"

"Of course I can, Draco, you know that," she replied, indignant. "But why would you want it to be a secret?"

"He didn't actually go into the back room with anyone. He didn't go at all," Draco started, and Aurelie's eyes went wide, though she didn't interrupt. "He came back to my flat, and…he was pissed beyond belief, and my judgment wasn't its best…and your cauldron is about to boil over." Aurelie swore colorfully in French, scrambling to her feet to fix the mess she'd created. She managed to save the potion, did the necessary spell, and sat back down while it brewed. She motioned for Draco to continue. "He couldn't remember a thing in the morning. He'd forgotten everything. I couldn't tell him the truth, it would ruin our friendship, but…at the same time, I'm angry with myself for lying to him, and I'm wrongly angry with him for forgetting, which was beyond his control." Aurelie's expression said it all: She couldn't imagine the situation being much worse than it was. She'd led a sheltered life, it was to be expected.

"What shall I tell him, next time he asks?" she asked, her voice quiet and solemn. Draco shrugged.

"Tell him I'm angry with myself for letting him go off and shag a stranger," he said, staring at his own cauldron as it simmered, wishing he knew what to do.

"Is that really all it is…?" Harry asked, disappointed, when Aurelie conveyed Draco's message. She nodded.

"He says you can visit his flat after your shift today, he wants to see you and apologize," she told him, stirring the batch of a relatively strong Splinch repair potion she was making. "He says he needs you. The mistakes are coming back again. He said you would know what that meant, that he needs help and the sleeping potions don't help now." Harry hid his panic well; he knew that if the sleeping potions had stopped working, Draco was in some serious trouble, and that the episodes were getting more frequent. That wasn't good. "He said the door will be open." Harry nodded, not paying attention to the potion he was brewing. He was too busy thinking.

"Is that all he said?" he asked, sitting on the same tiny stool as Draco had. Aurelie remained standing and nodded.

"Yes. That is all he told me to tell you," she said, choosing her words carefully. With luck, Harry wouldn't construe that as meaning there was more Draco had said but told her not to say. Harry was too busy thinking of Draco to read too much into what Aurelie said. "You need to stir that sleeping draught or it will ruin the cauldron." Harry stood slowly and did as told, stirring the draught in the cauldron slowly, staring into it as if it would tell him everything he needed to know. Of course, he knew it wouldn't, but still he stared, watching it slowly bubble. Throughout the rest of his shift, he was lost in his thoughts, and as soon as he was done, he pretty much sprinted out of St. Mungo's and to the nearest point from which he could Apparate, depositing himself in front of Draco's flat. He went in – the door was, in fact, open – and stopped in the doorway, staring.

The flat was a wreck. Nothing was in its proper place. Broken furniture was abundant, as was evidence of an owl who'd been hunting and leaving the remains wherever she pleased. Harry picked through the flat to Draco's bedroom, where he found Canitiem picking over the bones of her latest kill. With a muttered apology to the owl, Harry left that room and found Draco in the guest bedroom, trembling in a corner. He was staring straight ahead, like there was a ghost in front of him, and looked like complete and utter hell. He seemingly hadn't shaved in about a week, his cheeks were sallow, there were bags under his eyes, and his hair was in all sorts of disarray. Harry got to him as quickly as he could, grabbing the blond's shoulders and holding tight.

"Draco! Draco, snap out of it, it's not real, it's not real, I'm here now, it's not real, you're fine! You're a good man, and whatever you're seeing _isn't real_!" Harry shouted, shaking Draco once, twice, three times before he just held still and watched Draco's frightened, dull grey eyes focus on him, relaxing gradually as Draco came back to reality. "You're in your flat, off Diagon Alley, your owl Canitiem is eating in your bedroom, and your flat is a disaster. Don't make me tell you how you yourself look, I think you might well send a Stinging Curse straight at my face if I did, just so I would look worse." By the end, Draco was fully aware again and half-smiling, which made Harry smile, albeit worriedly. "Aurelie gave me your message. It got me really worried, and then I came in here and saw that everything was a mess, and…Draco, I'm really worried about you. I'm upset that you haven't talked to me in two weeks, but I'm more worried for you than angry with you." Draco sat back, staring at Harry, his half-smile having faded away completely.

"Harry…why do you still care after I did all that to you? After I went to such efforts to keep away from you?" he asked, trying to stare into Harry's soul through his eyes. He hated to admit it to himself, but Harry was the best at bringing him back to reality, even after Draco had associated a horrible mistake with the brunette, who shrugged.

"Because I still consider you my friend, regardless of how angry you are with yourself, and regardless of how you act," Harry explained, sitting down on the floor by Draco, keeping eye contact with the blond steadily and as comfortingly as he could. "It seems like you really need a friend, and to tell the truth, I do, too. Not because my life is hell, like yours seems to be, but…because I started to forget what the point was of going on, day after day, with no semblance of direction or purpose. Then I met you again, and…well, my life started to mean something again. You gave me a purpose, a reason, and I can't just give up on you after that. I can't let you just destroy yourself this way. What happened in the pub that night…it was meant to happen. Everything happens for a reason, obscure as the reason may be. You did what you did and I did what I did for some sort of reason. You didn't make any mistakes. Even if what you said happened wasn't true, lying about it wasn't a mistake. You haven't made any mistakes so far this time around. Come on, let's get this place cleaned up. We're wizards, it'll be easy for us." Harry stood, and offered a hand to Draco, who was trying to ignore the tears in his eyes.

"Yeah. Let's put the flat back together," he said, raising his wand, which he hadn't let go of for the past several days. Harry took his out, and together, they set about righting the mess the flat had become in Draco's mental absence. They started with the bedroom, since it would be the most useful room for Draco if they didn't finish, then the kitchen, and moved through every room, spelling everything back into its proper place and order. They finished with the living room, and sat down on the couch when they were done, exhausted from such extensive spellcasting. Draco looked at Harry, wondering if the whole speech before had been true. Within moments, he began to question Harry's motives in helping him, and despite his exhaustion, was off the couch, towering over the still-seated Harry, his wand beginning to spark.

"What the hell do you have to gain from leading me on the way you've been doing? You hated me all through school, _hated_ me! What could you possibly have to gain from leading me on and destroying me now?" he screeched, thoroughly undignified and not caring about how his father was likely turning in his grave. Harry, complete and utter prick that he was, just sat there, meeting Draco's furious gaze calmly and easily.

"First of all, sit down, Draco, there's no need to intimidate me," Harry said calmly, gesturing to an armchair as opposed to Draco's former position on the couch, which might be objectionable. Draco took the spot on the couch. Harry decided, wisely, not to comment. "Secondly, we're no longer in school. You've changed, I've changed, we're not who we were then, and gladly so. I don't hate you; I value you as a friend, and I genuinely care about you as a person." Draco looked away from Harry, unable to meet that genuine concern and remain angry. "Thirdly, I've not been intentionally leading you on. I want to be friends with you, and I want you in my life for as long as you're willing to stay in it. I know you know some things about our relationship that it's not the right time for me to know yet, and I'm OK with that. I want to know, but I can wait, I can be patient, so long as you let me help you when you need it. I would never intentionally hurt you, Draco, I swear on my life I wouldn't." It looked like Draco was starting to calm down, though the blond still wasn't meeting Harry's gaze, so Harry stopped talking, instead simply sitting back as non-threateningly as possible.

"You would make a brilliant Auror, you know that?" Draco said, almost too quietly for Harry to hear. "You have a way of diffusing aggression, making people feel completely at home with you…if you were about to arrest me for something, I wouldn't know it. You have a way with people." Harry sighed, looking at Draco and wishing the blond would face him.

"I'm only good with you," the brunette said, getting up from the couch and going to where he could see Draco's face, holding the blond's silver eyes with his gaze alone, doing his best to keep Draco facing him without forcing it. "You are a god human being who isn't making mistakes. You're living. You're being human. Come on. We're getting ice cream." He stood from where he had been crouching and held out his hands to help Draco up.

"I'm sorry I yelled," Draco said, taking Harry's hands and getting up from the couch. He offered his friend a smile, feeling better and realizing he needed Harry in his life, no matter how many times he felt he messed up or did something wrong. Maybe he just had a learning curve with friendships that was different from that of most people. He hoped so. He liked becoming better for every minute more he knew Harry Potter. They left Draco's flat, both young men smiling and happy from the other's company. Draco had no thoughts whatsoever of Madame Fortescue, or what she had told him of their ice cream and their relationship.

"Can I try to guess what Madame Fortescue said?" Harry asked as he and Draco sat outside Florean Fortescue's, stealing spoonfuls of each other's ice cream as often as they ate from their own dish. Draco shrugged, stealing a spoonful of Harry's ice cream.

"You can make guesses, but I won't tell you if you're right or not," the blond replied, giving Harry a look that was both innocently neutral and mischievously blank. Harry smirked, deciding to test his ability to read Draco while he made guesses.

"She said that we're going to shag each other senseless for the rest of eternity because our ice creams are deliciously identical," the brunette joked, making Draco laugh and shrug.

"That might be fun, but highly impractical. We'd never get any sleep and would die of exhaustion after the first two months," he replied, smiling. It did sound nice, but he'd made the comment as a joke as well. They were friends.

"I know, I know. I'm sorry, I just had to make the joke, with how secretive you are about it," Harry said, staring into his ice cream for inspiration. "We're going to be best friends for all eternity. No, that can't be right, that wouldn't be such a big thing. Not big enough to hide, anyway. We are…bound to each other in some sort of demonic pact signed by our ancestors. No?" Draco had started laughing extremely hard, making Harry look up from his ice cream just to see the normally-composed blond lose his composure in such a fit of amusement as laughter. The blond had one fist to his mouth, the other gripping the edge of the table so hard his knuckles were visibly paler than the rest of his porcelain skin. Harry laughed, too, unable to resist joining Draco in his merriment. When they had both calmed down, Harry decided to make some serious guesses. "Did she tell you we're going to fall in love despite everything?" Draco looked at Harry, trying to gauge the brunette's seriousness.

"I already told you, I won't tell you whether or not you're right," Draco reminded his friend, eating some more of his ice cream. Harry surreptitiously admired the way Draco licked his lips to rid them of ice cream that had wound up there.

"Maybe she said our souls are intertwined, eternally and irrevocably, in some kind of bond no human can fully fathom," Harry guessed, fully serious. Draco showed no outward indication of how close Harry had come to the correct answer. "Maybe she said we're soul mates. Didn't you tell me, before the whole episode with the pub, that you had read a book on the concept of soul mates in relation to magic and the way such a pair could influence each other's magic?" Draco nodded, eating his ice cream as if he hadn't just felt like he was having a heart attack because Harry had successfully guessed what he had been told.

"I did, and I could loan you my copy, if you'd like to read it," the blond replied, keeping his face as neutral and composed as he possibly could. "I made some notes in it when I read it, did some underlining, to help myself understand what I was reading. Mostly just some notes on the way things were worded, or the possible implications of certain statements. Come back with me when we're done here, I'll give it to you." As Draco spoke, he recalled a passage from the book that he hadn't annotated at all, simply read over and over again until he had it memorized.

_Soul mates will, occasionally, begin their relationship as enemies or rivals. They may clash more in the beginning because of the differing points they are at in their mental and emotional development. However, as they age, they may become more attuned to each other, and may find it easier to get along and cope with the intensity of what they feel or what they are compelled to want or understand. It is not uncommon for soul mates to fight more often at the beginning, though these fights will often be one-sided, and one of the pair will be able to calm the other down quickly and easily. This phenomenon is known as cosmic shift, and happens when a pair of soul mates is in the process of shifting subconsciously to a place where they can be comfortably intertwined with each other's souls._


	7. Hungarian Horntails

Once Draco had handed over the book, Harry took only a day to read it cover to cover, despite the fact that it was dense with both scientific language and descriptions of spells that were so archaic as to have been completely forgotten outside of ancient spellbooks. The book had started out talking about how soul mates seemed, on the surface, to have a relationship like any other pair of people, and how this surface relationship had no effect on the pair's magic. He'd read on to find whatever it was Draco had found so interesting about it, and the more he read, the more certain he was. It was quite eerie to read about his relationship with Draco Malfoy, explained so dryly and uncaringly by people who had nothing whatsoever to do with the relationship.

_Soul mates will often feel an uncontrollable, and often seemingly irrational, need to protect each other's lives._

_Cosmic shift may last for a period ranging between a few days to several years, depending on what point in their respective developments a pair meets._

_A pair of soul mates may find inexplicable similarities in their personalities, such as a shared stubbornness or drive, regardless of the object of these qualities._

The next time they saw each other was at the hospital, and they were sharing their shift with Aurelie. Harry came in clutching the book, and Draco knew immediately without having to ask that Harry had read it through and knew what it meant to their relationship with each other. Aurelie could sense that there was air that needed to be cleared between the two, but didn't want to leave them alone with each other, in case it came to blows and they wound up sending hexes flying everywhere. She was sensible, but often too much so. She merely watched the two, trying to make sure they didn't kill each other.

"Pass me the flask of snake bile," Draco asked at one point, holding out his graceful, pale hand for the flask. Harry grabbed it off a shelf and handed it to Draco. Their hands touched in the passing, and they locked eyes with each other, obviously feeling some kind of electric charge flowing through their skin where they were in contact with each other. It took a moment, but eventually, Draco took the flask from Harry and the strange moment passed. By the end of their shared shift, Aurelie was in mental hysterics trying to figure out what was going on between Harry and Draco and what the infernal book in the corner they both kept staring at had to do with any of it. She had a feeling she would never get an answer, though, no matter how many times she asked. When their shift ended, Draco and Harry left together, Draco holding the book, both men tense. Aurelie was left behind, blinking, confused and worried that they were going to be alone together. She couldn't do anything about it, though, and so didn't follow them.

"We can talk at my flat," Draco said, his voice strained, as they left the hospital, the book clutched tightly in his hand. He kept just far enough from Harry that they wouldn't touch, so that strange moment in the workroom wouldn't be repeated. It had been a slow day, so he wasn't at all tired, and he didn't need Harry's help. Harry seemed to silently agree, though he was tense in a far different way than Draco was. While the blond seemed quite worried over something, Harry seemed angry, as if he were seething over something important that had been worrying him and that he'd finally found out. They Apparated together at the earliest convenience, landing in Draco's living room. Draco perched on the edge of his favorite armchair, still clutching the damned book, and Harry stood with his back to Draco, one hand over his mouth and chin, as if he were trying to figure out how to phrase something without flinging hexes galore in Draco's general direction. Eventually, the brunette turned around, his wand safely in his pocket, and stared at the blond as if evaluating him, or trying to guess something. Draco started to get nervous, and just as he was about to beg Harry to just _say _something, dammit, even Canitiem was bound to get worked up over something this tense, Harry spoke.

"You knew." Two simple words, but they struck a nerve in Draco's core, and the blond started to tremble slightly, not a visible kind of trembling, but the kind of trembling that one feels inside, as if their very being is shaking. "You knew we were soul mates. Madame Fortescue didn't even have to tell you, did she? You knew after you read the damn book. Let me guess – you didn't know you knew until she told you. How could you not tell me something this important? This isn't something that's too important to say, but not important enough to say, either. This is too important to keep quiet about. This affects our magic, in a dangerous way. 'The longer a pair of soul mates is kept apart, the harder it becomes to control their magic.' You knew." Draco flinched, feeling like he'd done something terrible. Either Harry didn't notice, or he didn't care. "How could you not tell me about this, Draco? You knew this would affect our magic and our ability to control it. You knew it could dangerous, so why—"

"It would only be dangerous if we were kept apart," Draco asserted, managing to make his voice loud enough to interrupt Harry's words. "We weren't being kept apart. We were together, if only physically. The time was never right to tell you, not until I gave you the book, and the book was the right way to tell you. You yourself said that everything was happening for a reason. Why can't you think like that now?" Harry growled, too angry and worked up to admit to his own hypocrisy.

"This isn't just about our magic, Draco! It's about us, as people! I thought I could just be friends with you, and I thought that this stupid magnetism between us was just because you're a charming git and I'm the saviour of the wizarding world! How the hell can I see you as anything but my soul mate now? How am I supposed to look at you without thinking of cosmic repercussions and the fact that our souls are intertwined forever?" The brunette froze as he realized how meek, how hurt, Draco looked, and he realized how he sounded, how he looked, how he was acting.

"You could do it the same way I've done ever since she told me," Draco said, his voice quiet and strained and thoroughly hurt. "By looking at me as just Draco, and nothing more. I've been looking at you and seeing Harry, a brilliant wizard destined to become an Auror with no particular talent for potion making and a good head for problem-solving. I've been seeing the man my soul is intertwined with, but not as that. I've been seeing you as my friend, the first real friend I've had since school. Do you remember those two weeks when we didn't see each other, and you came to help me and my flat was destroyed? I couldn't control my magic. I can't control it when I panic, but once I'd found you again, it wasn't as bad. And then I tried to distance myself from you, because of what happened at the pub, and I lost all the control I'd built up. I couldn't control anything anymore. My control came back as soon as you came. I could feel your presence, I could feel you getting closer. I started to come back to reality the second you entered the flat. I thought I was going even crazier, and the closer you got, the more paranoid I felt about it, but then you were there and I knew it was real, that what I was starting to see was real. Please, Harry, don't be angry with me for not telling you. It didn't change much for me. It only made me more open to spending time with you, getting to know you better. It doesn't change anything other than that for me, and it shouldn't change anything for you. It should do nothing more than explain some things." In the time that Draco had been speaking, Harry had taken a seat on the nearer end of the couch, his eyes never leaving Draco's for more than half a moment, and he had begun to understand some of the blonde's behavior. There was so much he wanted to know, so many questions he wanted to ask, but there was only one burning a big enough hole in the back of his mind for him to deem it worth asking at that point in time.

"Is there anything else major you've been keeping from me?" he asked, knowing the answer would have something to do with their night at the Three Broomsticks. Draco looked so guilty over it that Harry wished he hadn't asked, but knew he couldn't take the question back.

"When we went to the Three Broomsticks together, you didn't go into the back room with anyone," Draco started, keeping his eyes on Harry's despite his fear of the brunette's reaction. "You came back to my flat with me, and I didn't have enough of my reason about me to think it was a bad idea. You were so drunk there was no way you could've had any of your wits about you, and the second we were through, you passed out on my bed. I stayed up late making Pepper-Up Potions for you, and then decided to start replenishing my own stores of ingredients. It took me that long to get done all that I needed to, and you remember what happened after you woke up." Harry didn't look angry or upset or even surprised, and this lack of reaction made Draco uneasy. The blonde was starting to think he'd made a mistake in owning up to what had happened at the Three Broomsticks. It wasn't good for him to think he'd made a mistake.

"Thank you…for at least admitting to it," Harry said, almost hesitantly. "I…I don't know how to respond, really…I think I just need some time to process everything you've said today…" Draco nodded, understanding that fully. "Do you have some paper and a quill I could use? It would help me to sort through everything." Draco nodded and got up from where he'd been perched, going into another room and coming back with a notebook and a fountain pen.

"It's not a quill, but it's like a combination quill and Muggle pen. Is that alright with you?" the blonde asked, handing the materials over. Harry nodded.

"I've used fountain pens before. I prefer them to quills – they don't drip as much, and they don't require inkwells," the brunette replied, opening the notebook. There was a section in the beginning full of writing in Draco's tight, elegant scrawl. Harry read a few lines on one of the pages and decided to go back and read more later, flipping to the first blank page he could find. He started to write down everything he'd learned, making it as organized as possible. It still came out a mess – all of it, from his handwriting to the "organization", was messy and disorganized and hard to follow – but Harry could follow it. The whole page was covered in writing, and he held it so he he could see the general shape of his thoughts. He was a little shocked at what he saw – without meaning for it to, he had organized his writing into a perfect picture of Draco's face. He put the notebook down slowly, looking from his writings to Draco and back, thoroughly stunned. "I guess it's really true."

"What makes you say that?" Draco asked, having not looked at the notebook. He'd been unable to take his eyes from Harry's face the whole time. The brunette picked up the notebook, turning it so Draco could see his face reflected in the page. "It's just like the book said. 'No matter how hard one of the pair tries to get away from the other, everything they do will lead to their counterpart.' At first, I'd thought it was some kind of hoax. I believed parts of it, but…I never thought that all of it could possibly be true." Draco looked up from the image of his own face in the notebook, meeting Harry's gaze, which hadn't left his own silvery eyes.

"It's weird to think about, isn't it? We're intertwined with each other forever," the brunette said, closing the notebook without giving it back to Draco. "Do you mind if I read this over? I read a few lines in the beginning, and it's pretty interesting. You write well. If you don't want me reading it, I completely understand, but…I figured I'd ask before just reading through your notebook." Draco shrugged, not being able to recall anything particularly damaging being in there.

"Sure, go ahead. I think it's a journal I used to keep. I thought for a while it would help me get over my panic," he replied, getting up from where he'd sat back down. "Do you want anything to eat, or maybe some hot cocoa or tea?" Harry nodded.

"Some hot cocoa would be great, and something to eat would definitely be appreciated. I haven't eaten all day," the brunette admitted, getting up and following Draco into the kitchen. Draco got out the cocoa and put a kettle of water on the stove, and the pair worked together to make their dinner of a very simple chicken in a creamy sauce with biscuits, noodles, and some mixed vegetables – basically, chicken pot pie without the actual assembly of the pie. It was time-consuming and rather exhausting, but they enjoyed it, and the important part was they did it together. Harry brought the notebook to the table, and read it as they ate. Draco didn't mind; it would be interesting to hear Harry's questions, and when it came to interesting questions, Draco was very impatient. He didn't really care at that point that it was extremely rude to read when at the table with someone else. They had decided to wait on the cocoa till after they'd eaten, and so, two mugs of steaming hot cocoa sat on the counter, under a stasis spell. When the two men had finished their meal, Draco cleared the dishes and brought the cocoa, ushering Harry into the living room.

"You'll be more comfortable reading in the big armchair, and I can light us a fire," the blond reasoned, setting Harry's cocoa on the end table next to the bigger armchair. He was heading for the couch when he felt a hand on his free wrist tugging him back towards the armchair. Draco turned around and raised an eyebrow at Harry, who pointed to the free space next to him on the chair.

"There's room enough for both of us, and this chair is closer to the fireplace, anyway," Harry said, leaning on one armrest and clearly planning to let Draco have the other all to himself. The blond sighed, and pulled out his wand to light the fire. "Come on, Draco, sit down. Don't you want to know what part of your life I'm reading?" Draco sighed again and squeezed himself into the right space between Harry's warm body and the free armrest. Harry put his arm around Draco's shoulders, making Draco blush. Together, they read.

_Wayne leaves for Romania in a week. I have to make this last time with him count for everything. It's not likely he's ever coming back. We both knew this was going to come, but we had enough time beforehand that we could afford to forget for a while, at least while we were with each other. I never forgot, though. How could I? He's leaving for Romania to handle Hungarian Horntails. Those are some of the most dangerous dragons in the world. I've been reading up on them ever since he told me that first day we met that he would be handling them. They're dangerous and nasty, and most inexperienced handlers wind up dead within a year of meeting the colony because they can't handle the unpredictability and general ferocity of such beasts. I can't bear the thought of losing him to those monsters in Romania, but I can't talk him out of it, either. He's never handled dragons before, but the people in Romania think he's too big for the dragons to eat, and too strong for the tamer dragons. Whatever happens, I know that the only way he's going to come home is in a casket. In letting him leave like this, I'm burying him. He's burying himself, really, and there's not a damn thing I can do about it but make it easier on him. I can't let him leave angry._

"Tell me about Wayne," Harry said, putting down his empty cocoa mug and closing the notebook. That was the last entry, anyway. Draco shrugged, still sipping at his own cocoa, which was only half drained. "You wrote about him like he was important to you, very important. He went off to Romania to work with dragons…maybe Ron's brother Charlie knows him."

"It would be hard to miss him," Draco admitted, staring into his cocoa. Harry's arm around his shoulders felt wonderful, almost comforting. "He's half giant, you see, and he takes after the giant side, physically. He's taller than most other half giants, but he's more human than a giant is. Aside from his height, he looks fully human, and acts fully human. He's brilliantly smart, and very talented with dangerous beasts. It was only fitting that he would go off to Romania to work with dragons. We were close, very close. I loved him dearly, while I still had him. I wrote that I wanted to make his leaving easier on him, but we got into a colossal argument on the day he left, and I never got the chance to make amends. I was always too scared or busy to write him a letter, and I didn't know exactly where in Romania he was, or if there was even a floo there for me to call him. He's probably been killed by now. He left over a year ago." The blond reached across Harry and put his half-full mug of cocoa on the end table, settling back into place just in time for Harry to hug him tightly.

"I'm sorry for what happened, Draco, truly I am," the brunette murmured, his chin resting on Draco's shoulder. Draco sighed again.

"I hadn't thought about him in nearly a year. His mother didn't like me, and she wouldn't have told me when he died. He didn't have very many friends, so there's no way for me to really know."


	8. Little Dragon

The next day was their shared shift at St. Mungo's, and Draco managed to convince Harry to go out for some ice cream and stay the night at Draco's flat. They arrived at the hospital together, and in much brighter moods than the day before, much to Aurelie's relief. The girl hadn't been able to sleep the night before because of her nerves, and in the beginning of the shift, devolved to very quick, very frantic French that Harry couldn't follow to save his life. Draco, on the other hand, was quite fluent in French, and managed to calm her and convince her to go home and get some rest, sending her off with some calming draughts and a sleeping draught, to be taken in a very specific order and only in the safety of her own bed. He wrote the order down for her, and even labeled the bottles, making sure there was no way for her to get mixed up. Sending her home meant more work for Harry and himself, but it wasn't a particularly busy day at St. Mungo's, so it didn't matter all that much. Draco couldn't get the conversation from the night before out of his head – once he and Harry had really started discussing Wayne, they hadn't stopped until neither of them could see straight or think coherently and had been forced to get some sleep. They'd discussed everything about the man in great detail – every nook and cranny of his personality, and every millimeter of his body. At first, Draco had thought it would be awkward, but it had turned out just fine. Harry wasn't jealous, merely curious. As the end of their shift neared, an orderly nervously edged into the room, wringing her hands anxiously.

"U-uhm, Mr. Malfoy, sir?" the orderly squeaked. She couldn't have finished school more than a year ago, if that.

"Don't be so nervous, I'm not going to bite you," Draco replied, looking at her eyes. They were trained directly at his forearm, where his rolled-up sleeves exposed the barely-visible Dark Mark. That must have been what was making her nervous, so Draco quickly rolled that sleeve back down. "What is it?" The covering of the Mark made her visibly more at ease, as she stopped wringing her hands, though her eyes were still trained on his forearm.

"Th-there's a patient who needs as much of the strongest available burn salve as possible, a-and the healers told me that you have to bring it to him and apply it yourself, on the third floor in the burn wing," the orderly managed to get out in one big rush of words, like it would run away if she didn't let it out quickly enough. Her message given, the girl fled the room, leaving Draco confused and Harry utterly gob-smacked.

"The third floor is mostly critical care, and half the burn wing is reserved giants' beds because any giant or half-giant we get is a critical case as we don't always have the resources to care for them," the blond mused aloud as he brought the salve down from the shelf and put it onto a cart for transportation. "I wonder what's happened." Harry looked at the blond, utterly dumbfounded at Draco's nonchalant behavior. Maybe the blond really did think his former lover dead…and maybe the blond was right. Harry supposed he probably was; working with a whole colony of Hungarian Horntails was almost assuredly deadly. He didn't even know how he'd managed to survive an encounter with a single one, let alone a whole colony. Lost in his musings on the likelihood of surviving an encounter with a Horntail, Harry didn't notice when Draco left with the cart. The blond made his way to the third floor burn wing, taking directions from the healers he saw there to the giants' half of the wing and to the room he was needed in. He knocked on the door before opening it and heading in, looking at the cart to make sure none of the jars of salve fell.

"Draco? Is that you?" The blond looked up sharply at the sound of those few words, from a voice so strained from pain it was almost painful to hear, and saw what surely had to be a ghost. He froze in the doorway, one hand on the door, the other on the cart, and couldn't take his eyes off of that face – severely burned, but still recognizable – that terribly alive face. "Draco, it's me, don't you remember me? It's—"

"Wayne," Draco practically croaked, his throat having suddenly dried out. "You're alive." The blond managed to regain some of his faculties, and closed the door behind himself, taking one of the jars of salve off the cart.

"Yes, I'm alive. You seriously thought a few dragons could kill me?" Wayne replied as Draco started to apply the salve to his face. Draco understood now why he was required to apply the treatment to this particular patient. Maybe it had been by the half-giant's request, maybe not, but it was decidedly because it was, above all, _Wayne_. "How have you been faring on your own?" Draco forced himself not to laugh at this question, continuing to apply the salve to Wayne's extensive burns.

"I haven't been alone, Wayne, you know that. With Aurelie around, I've never been alone," he said, trying to imagine the dragon that had done such terrible damage to such a huge guy as Wayne. Next to the half-giant, Draco looked like a child, which had been part of why Draco had gravitated towards the constantly-tanned male. He had needed someone to cling to, someone who felt like an adult, and Wayne filled that role perfectly. "I made a new friend as well. I don't think you'll be meeting him, though." The thought of Wayne and Harry meeting made Draco's head hurt. Wayne could be insanely jealous, and due to his being nearly twice Draco's size and closer to twice Harry's size, it would be easy for the half-giant to seriously injure – or even kill – one or both of them. By the time he was finished, Draco had used up more than three-quarters of the hospital's store of burn salve, which was quite a lot. Wayne's injuries seemed to be non-life-threatening, which both comforted and frightened Draco. The pair had talked the whole time, and Draco had avoided meeting Wayne's wide, warm brown eyes. They were so earnest and open…Draco couldn't face them. Instead, he would stare at the half-giant's red hair, or at his nose, anywhere but at his eyes. Mostly he looked at whatever burn he was treating. When he was finished, he went straight back to the workroom, trying not to think of all the possible implications of Wayne's return.

"Why did it have to be you in particular?" Harry asked, when Draco had gotten well into the process of making more salve – well enough into it that he was much calmer than when he'd reentered the workroom.

"It's Wayne. A dragon went wild because its mate had died," the blond replied, stirring the still-liquid salve. "Wayne got too close, too soon. He has burns over most of his body. He should recover relatively quickly, but he'd going to bring up the question of whether or not we're actually still together, and I don't know what to tell him. I'm afraid to tell him no; he gets extremely jealous, and I don't want him hurting you thinking you're the reason why, or hurting anyone else because of his jealousy."

"If he's as good a person as he seemed when we were talking last night, he should understand if you tell him no and explain why," Harry said, cleaning the last of the jars for the salve Draco was making. "The majority of the Healers here are skilled fighters, so if something goes wrong, there's more than enough manpower here to control him. I'd tell you to slip him a sedative when the time arrives for that conversation, but that would be worse than questionable ethically, so I won't suggest it." Draco smiled a little, glad to have Harry in his life.

"Thank you, Harry. I really appreciate it," he said, casting a spell over the salve and starting to portion it out into the jars, where it would cool and – to some extent – solidify. Harry smiled back at Draco, helping to portion out the salve. It went quicker with two pairs of hands, especially for such a large batch of anything, especially salve. By the time they finished portioning out the salve, it was well past when their shift was supposed to have ended, and Draco was thoroughly exhausted, both mentally and physically – so much so that Harry had to help him Apparate back to his apartment, and Draco chose to sleep on his couch instead of putting forth the effort to get changed and sleep in his own bed. Harry was a little worried about Draco's health, but let it be, figuring the blond would be fine with some rest.

For the next week or so, Draco was called back daily to St. Mungo's to care for Wayne and his injuries. They talked at length during these visits, about everything and anything. He ran his errands with Harry, mostly for a way to ensure that he wouldn't collapse.

"Are you sure you don't have better places to be than schlepping around with me all day?" the blond asked for what must have been the twentieth time that day. Harry sighed, putting a hand on Draco's back, between his shoulder blades – the blond had begun to sway exhaustedly. Draco gave the brunette a weary smile. "Thanks."

"I don't have anywhere better to be than here with you. There would be nowhere better for me to be," Harry said, smiling brilliantly and warmly. "How is Wayne doing?" Draco sighed, still smiling that weary smile.

"He's doing much better. He's probably going to be released soon," the blond said, seemingly relieved that he wouldn't have to make daily care calls anymore. "I don't know what he plans to do once he's released – he's been ordered not to work with dragons anymore, so he can't go back to Romania. I could get him a job at the hospital, but he's no good with potions or healing spells."

"You don't have to help him any more than you already have," Harry interrupted, his smile having disappeared. "You've given him more energy than you have to give – you don't have to do anything more for him. If he doesn't appreciate all you've done, he doesn't deserve anything more." Draco gave an exhausted laugh, shrugging Harry's hand off his back.

"I have to go tend to him when we're done here. Let's finish up," the blond said, heading towards Florean Fortesque's for some ice cream and energy before heading off to the hospital. Once at St. Mungo's, he headed first to the workroom to gather some burn salve for the worst of the burns, which weren't fully healed yet, then went straight to Wayne's room, closing the door behind himself, as he did every day. "Hi, Wayne. How are you feeling today?" He set down the two jars of salve he had with him, and looked up to find Wayne sitting up on the bed, staring directly into Draco's eyes, dull from lack of rest.

"We need to talk, Draco," the half-giant said, his deep voice authoritative. Draco swallowed hard, meeting Wayne's gaze full-force. "We're still together, aren't we? You're still mine. You're still all mine, right?" Draco didn't lower his gaze, but he did sit down in the bedside chair, trying to keep the tears from his eyes. This was exactly what he had wanted to avoid. He didn't answer, and Wayne grew visibly agitated. "So long as I live and breathe, Draco Malfoy, you belong to me! You promised me that before I left!"

"And I believed you to be dead," Draco replied, his voice giving away the tears he fought to hide from view. "Time marched merrily onward, and I heard nothing from you. I believed you had died, and I moved on with my life. There is someone else who's been better for me than you ever were, and I've become closer to him in just a few weeks than I became to you in the same number of months. I'm sorry, Wayne, but that's the truth of the situation. I've given you the best care I can give you, the best care in my ability, and there's nothing more I can do for you." Throughout Draco's speech, Wayne grew more and more visibly agitated, and when Draco finished, they both sat there in silence for a few minutes, staring each other down, until Wayne grabbed Draco roughly by the arm and dragged him to the bed, so that they were face to face, close enough to kiss.

"You're _mine_, and I'm not going to let some mere _human_ take you from me," the half-giant growled, seeming to forget that Draco himself was a "mere human". The blond didn't bother to make the correction, too fearful of what Wayne was going to do. He had known something like this was likely to happen, and he focused on making it as painless for himself as possible. He thought as quickly as his exhausted mind could manage, tuning out Wayne's angry growling for the moment. Wayne was quite talented at performing magic without his wand, which made him quite difficult to face off against in a duel. Wayne was also much stronger, like an adult to a child, and Draco would have no chance to beat him in a physical fight. He put up minimal resistance as Wayne dragged him fully onto the bed, only coming out of his thoughts when his shirt was ripped from his body and an unbelievably large hand was pressed to his crotch. Draco's eyes went wide and wild, and he felt tears start to escape and run down his cheeks.

"Wh-what are you doing?" the blond squeaked, in an uncharacteristic lack of composure, as he brought his hands up to try to get away, only to give Wayne an opening to grab both his wrists in one hand and pin them above his head on the bed.

"Taking what's mine," the half-giant growled, and Draco gasped, trying to take in as much air as he could for a screech. "Don't do that. You don't want anyone to get _hurt_ because of you, do you?" Draco shut his mouth quickly, the tears starting to stream freely from his eyes. He was terrified now. Wayne flipped the much-smaller blond over, so that Draco lay on his stomach, and tugged his trousers and pants down together, pulling Draco's hips up so his bare arse stuck out. "Just relax, my little dragon, and you'll be fine, just like before." Draco clenched his jaw to keep from crying out as he felt the head of Wayne's oversized cock press into his entrance, followed by most of the shaft. It took all the willpower in Draco's being not to scream in pain, and the tears wouldn't stop flowing like rivers from his eyes. His hands were still pinned to the bed, and the sheets weren't loose, so there was nothing for him to grab onto to help him focus on something other than the pain, which tripled as the half-giant began to rock his hips back and forth. For an indeterminable amount of time, Draco felt nothing but his own tears and the unbearable pain, barely conscious of anything Wayne may have said or growled. The only thing that caught his attention was a sharp knock on the door, but Draco couldn't tell if the door was opened or not; he fell into sweet oblivion very soon after.

The door did open, showing one Harry Potter a scene he was sure would haunt his nightmares for a very long time afterwards. Draco, not even facing him, being fucked into the mattress by a behemoth of a person who must have been Wayne, one of his hands and both of Draco's tangled in a ball above Draco's head, Wayne's cock buried in Draco's arse. The half-giant threw a jinx of some sort or another in Harry's general direction, and the brunette flung the bag from Flourish and Blotts that Draco had forgotten into the room before fleeing the hospital, fighting tears the whole time. Apparently, having a soul mate meant nothing to Draco – he would choose whoever it was who fucked him best, and Harry was strictly a bottom. The brunette went straight back to his flat and locked himself in his room for the next few hours, crying himself into a restless nap that was interrupted by the sound of claws or talons against his window. He woke with a start, and realized that he hadn't stopped crying while he was asleep. That could have been a very bad thing, but Harry was lucky, and he didn't bother to scrub the tears from his face as he opened the window to admit Canitiem, who bore a water-stained fold of parchment in her beak. As soon as Harry had taken the tiny scrap from her, the great owl left, presumably heading back to Draco's flat. Harry unfolded the scrap, and the message on it was clear, despite the fact that the ink was smudged and distorted from the water stains. _I need to see you._ If it was to be the end, Harry supposed that Draco was right, and it was best done in person. He Apparated to the blond's flat, scrubbing the tears from his eyes and face before steeling himself to knock. He didn't have to; the door was yanked open before Harry had even raised his fist to knock. Draco looked like utter hell; his face was covered in tears, on top of the exhaustion he'd been displaying earlier, and he was limping heavily as he stood aside to let Harry in, obviously biting back sobs and clinging to the door to stay on his feet. The blond had no shirt on, and there were bloodstains on the waistband and arse of his trousers, and dripping down the legs, as well.

"I know why you asked to see me," Harry said curtly, trying to keep his voice emotionless. "I know what happened at the hospital today." Draco closed the door, limping and lurching across the room to grab onto an armchair so he wouldn't collapse. He almost didn't make it, but he looked at Harry with the hope of a child being told his abusive father has been reported to the authorities.

"You know what he did to me," the blond croaked out, his voice hoarse from crying and biting back screams of pain for so long. "You know…"

"You chose him," Harry said, surprised that his voice came out a growl. "You acted like you were going to tell him no, acted like you were choosing not to be with him, and when I went to bring the things you forgot from Flourish and Blotts to you, I walked in on you letting him fuck you into the mattress." Draco had recoiled from Harry's initial growl, and at the word "fuck", he flinched so hard that he fell to his knees, still gripping the arm of the chair. All the while, he couldn't take his eyes from Harry's, not caring that they were like burning green embers condemning him to hell.

"No," the blond rasped, looking even more hurt at the accusations Harry was hurling at him. "I didn't choose him. I told him no, and he got angry. He…" Draco couldn't bear looking at anything anymore, and he curled into a ball, his eyes screwed shut, his mouth contorted in a grimace of pain. The memory hurt him, and he couldn't stand it. "I tried to get away…he's stronger than I am, I couldn't have gotten away no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't have beaten him in a duel, and I couldn't have gotten away. I couldn't stop him. I couldn't…I begged him not to, but I couldn't _do_ anything about it…" Harry wanted to turn and run, this couldn't be what happened, but…no one could fake that kind of trauma. "I asked you to come here to tell you what happened, so you could help me…please, Harry, I need you…" Harry couldn't stand it anymore, and knelt in front of Draco, putting his hands on the blond's shoulders gently, not forcing Draco to do anything, just letting him feel his presence.

"I'm sorry for what I said, Draco, I didn't realize," Harry said, his voice low and full of regret and caring and kindness. Draco practically convulsed with a sob he couldn't keep in, and buried his face in Harry's chest, clinging to the brunette as if for dear life. "How badly are you hurt? Do you need me to heal you?" Draco shook his head against Harry's chest, gasping for enough air to speak.

"It's too…it's too extensive to heal…all at once," he sobbed, hiccupping for air. "It hurts so much…" Harry didn't need to hear any more. He picked Draco up bridal-style and stood with the blond curled up in the fetal position in his arms, and proceeded to carry Draco to his bedroom, setting him down on the bed and drawing the covers over his shaking frame.

"Draco, I promise, I'll protect you as best I can. I won't ever hurt you," Harry murmured, reaching out to stroke Draco's hair, smiling to himself as he realized that he really did love Draco Malfoy, and the realization settled onto his heart like the warmest blanket.


	9. Umbrella Charm

It took about a month for Draco to heal fully from the injuries he'd sustained, and he took time off from the hospital, telling his boss it was for "personal reasons" rather than telling the truth about what had happened. By the time Draco was well enough to return to his duties, Wayne had been discharged from the hospital and sent home, wherever the half-giant's home was to be. Harry had stuck by Draco's side, carefully tending to the blonde's injuries and whims, protecting him as much as possible. When Draco was fully healed, his first order of business was to run his errands, something he had allowed to lapse whilst he had been injured. Harry insisted upon accompanying the blonde, in case something happened. There were dark, heavy clouds in the sky, which gave Harry more pause than Draco.

"We should be fine, Harry, don't worry," the blonde reassured the brunette, strolling easily down the street, with no trace of the horrible limp that had afflicted him the day of the incident with Wayne. "If it does rain, we're wizards, we can cast an umbrella charm and be fine. Besides, Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley are extremely unlikely to be struck by lightning. The shops and streets are all heavily protected against such happenings." Harry sighed, still not entirely convinced.

"If you're sure, Draco…let's just hurry, alright? Just in case?" he pleaded, keeping his hand ghosting by Draco's elbow out of a habit he'd built up while caring for Draco, who sighed but nodded, knowing the brunette wouldn't have any peace of mind until he agreed. So it was that the two of them wound up walking towards Florean Fortescue's under Draco's umbrella charm, huddled close together to keep from getting too wet in the rain. They weren't paying attention to the other people on the street around them, so they didn't notice the half-giant lurking around Quality Quidditch, watching their progress. After their ice cream, they started to walk aimlessly around side streets, never looking over their shoulders, never noticing the figure of a half-giant following them at a distance.

"Draco…I think I need to tell you something," Harry said, stopping them where they were. The half-giant hid, stooped as low as he could get, in a doorway. Draco looked at Harry, a little concerned, until he saw the small smile on Harry's face, which only confused him.

"What is it? Harry, you're scaring me," the blonde said, and Harry gave a small laugh, meeting Draco's beautiful silver eyes with his own green eyes.

"You don't have to be scared, Draco," the brunette said, having to look up to see into Draco's eyes. He didn't mind. "This is a good thing. That day…after what happened at the hospital, when I came over, after you told me what really happened, I realized something. It goes beyond the whole soul mates thing. I-I know it's probably assumed by now, but…Draco, I realized that I love you. All the time we've spent together in the past month, making sure you're better…that just solidified it for me. I love you, Draco, and it's more than just the fact that we're soul mates. You're a brilliant wizard, with a talent for potions and figuring people out. You're handsome and smart, and I couldn't ask for anything more in a person. Draco, I—" But his next words were cut off as the half-giant neither young man had noticed dragged Harry away, throwing him to the ground, throwing stinging curses and nastier hexes and jinxes in such a flurry that Draco couldn't possibly react in time to prevent any damage. By the time the blonde had processed the situation, Harry was already pretty badly injured, and all Draco could do was keep him from dying – and he did, throwing a disarming charm, two Stupefies, and a binding spell in quick succession, casting a shield around Harry immediately after in case one of his spells had missed. He checked first to make sure the attacker was incapacitated, cast another binding spell to make sure the attacker couldn't break free, then rushed to Harry, kneeling next to the brunette, who was terrifyingly still.

"Harry? Harry! Can you hear me?" he called into the brunette's ear, checking his pulse. Harry was alive, the pulse was strong, but he was bleeding, and multiple bones were broken, all of them badly. Draco swore, and started to cast as many healing spells as he could manage, stopping the bleeding and setting the bones. He would have to get Harry to St. Mungo's, but the spells he had cast would be enough for the moment. Draco heard a groan coming from the attacker, and decided to get up and see who it was who had attacked them. He could see it was a half-giant, and the closer he got, the more he started to shake. He got close enough to see the attacker's face and had to fight the urge to retch. It was Wayne. Draco could feel the panic starting to rise in his mind, and forced it down as best he could, so that he could tend to Harry. He forced every thought but those of Harry from his mind, so that all he could think of was Harry. He summoned some parchment and a fountain pen, wrote a message to the ministry, and charmed it to fly off to the head of the Auror Department, so that Wayne could be arrested. That done, Draco picked Harry up, careful of his broken bones, and Apparated them both to St. Mungo's. When he explained to the desk what had happened, there was a flurry of activity that led – eventually – to Harry in a bed, resting from the healing that had been performed, and Draco out in the hall with the healer.

"He'll be alright. He's lucky to have someone like you around, Draco," the healer, a young woman with coffee-colored skin and warm brown eyes, said, her respect for Draco obvious in her words. "He'll wake up soon, and he'll need you around for a while. Luckily we don't have to regrow any bones, and I managed to heal the worst of the breaks, but it will take some time for him to recover the energy healing takes, and for his body to readjust. He should be good as new in a few days. You can go in and see him now." She smiled at Draco, who smiled and nodded stiffly back, going into the room. Harry was still unconscious, but his wounds were healed, and the effects of the stinging curse would wear off in a few hours. Draco pulled the chair up to the side of the bed and sat down, taking Harry's hand in his, more to comfort himself than to comfort Harry. His panic had disappeared in his rush to save Harry, and he supposed that it was because of Harry that he didn't fall into the panic. Draco could feel tears in his eyes, and he wiped them away with his free hand.

"Harry, I'm so sorry I couldn't keep you from getting hurt," he said, looking at Harry's unconscious face. He knew his words were falling on deaf ears, but he thought it might help bring the brunette back to the land of the conscious. "I love you, too, Harry, and I'm sorry I couldn't protect you. I love you beyond soul mates, beyond all of that. Do you remember all the things I said I saw, beyond seeing my soul mate, when you read that book? Those are some of the things I love about you. You're brilliant, Harry, you really are. You're smart, you're handsome, you're talented…you're all that and more. You keep my panic at bay. When you were attacked, and when I saw who it was…I nearly panicked. The only thing that kept me from panicking was you. I thought of you, and I thought of what might happen to you, and I forced back all thoughts of anything but you. I couldn't let you get hurt any more than you already were. It kills me that I couldn't keep you from getting hurt at all. I should have known he would try something…and for that, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Harry." As Draco had been speaking, the tears he'd felt started to fall freely down his cheeks, and he looked away from Harry's face, staring instead at his hand holding Harry's. He was so lost in what he was saying that he didn't notice when Harry woke up, near the beginning of his speech. Draco didn't realize the brunette was awake until he felt his hand being squeezed, and he looked up, scrubbing the tears from his face with his free hand and blinking his vision clear. Harry was smiling at him, fully awake.

"You really mean all of that?" the brunette asked, and Draco nodded, grinning despite himself. Harry's smile widened. "I didn't hear everything, but I heard the important parts. You've got a way with words, even when you're upset. I love that about you." Draco couldn't stop smiling, and he brought Harry's hand up and kissed the back of it, too happy to speak for a moment. "I know you, Draco. I know you wouldn't let something like this happen again. I know you made sure he can't get to us again." Draco's smile faltered, but Harry was right – the aurors who had picked Wayne up had sent Draco a message while the healer had been working on Harry, telling Draco that Wayne was in custody and there was nothing to worry about.

"I should have known he would try something, though," the blonde said, holding Harry's hand in both of his. "I should have known he wouldn't have let it be. I should have known…"

"Draco. Draco, look at me," Harry said, and Draco obeyed, looking directly into Harry's beautiful, clear green eyes. "Everyone makes mistakes. It's alright. You made a mistake, but when things went south, you reacted quickly, and you saved my life. The good you have done – both in this and over your life – far outweighs the mistakes you've made. You are a good man, and you have proven that time and time again. You are bigger than the mistakes you've made. Do you need proof? I love you. You have someone who loves you, and you always will. I'm not going to leave you that easily. You deserve to be loved, because you are a good person." The tears welled up in Draco's eyes again, and this time, he didn't scrub them away. He let them fall, because they needed to fall. Harry smiled gently, and raised the bundle of his hand and both of Draco's to wipe away the blonde's tears. Draco took the opportunity to kiss Harry's fingers, holding them against his lips for a long moment.

"You are better than anything I could ever deserve, Harry," the blonde said, still holding Harrys' hand up near his face. "You're more than I ever could have hoped for. I know I'll never get rid of you. You're my soul made – getting rid of you would hurt both of us, and everyone around us. Mostly us, though. I wouldn't want to cause you any pain, Harry. I couldn't. Thank you." Harry shook his head gently – it hurt a bit from the beating he'd taken – and smiled.

"No, Draco, thank _you_. Without your quick thinking, I'd probably be dead," the brunette said, squeezing Draco's hand. "Do you know how long I'll be stuck in here, away from you?"

"Only a few days," Draco said, laughing a bit. "The healer who saw you is particularly talented, most healers would have had you in here about a week, we got lucky. Visiting hours are almost up, though, so I'll have to leave soon. I'll be back tomorrow, though, I promise. While you're in monitoring, visiting hours are shorter than normal, but tomorrow, I should be able to stay longer. I know how this hospital works. You'll be out of here in no time. I'll make sure it feels like no time at all. I promise."

They spent the rest of the visiting hours that day just talking, and, as promised, the next day, Draco was back. As promised, visiting hours were longer than the previous day, and Draco had more time to spend with Harry. They spent the whole time talking and laughing together, and when it came time for Draco to leave, he kissed Harry's forehead, promising to visit the next day after his shift. He walked into the workroom practically glowing, and Aurelie, who had been there for a couple of hours already, couldn't help but notice.

"Did you and Harry have a good time yesterday?" she asked, knowing Harry was in the hospital and that Draco had visited. Draco grinned and blushed, giving the little French girl all the answer she needed. She smirked. "So the two of you are together now?" Draco started to answer, then faltered, his glow and grin fading from his face. He didn't know. Aurelie could see she'd asked the wrong question, and stared awkwardly into her cauldron. Draco got to work immediately, starting on a batch of burn salve. They still hadn't fully replenished their stores from Wayne's stay.

"He—He admitted that he loves me," the blonde said haltingly after a while. "And I told him the same…but we…we didn't actually…" He stared frustratedly down into the cauldron, still stirring so that the salve wouldn't thicken before it was finished. Aurelie frowned, wishing she could do something. Draco seemed upset by something he hadn't even thought about in his joy. "Maybe he meant to ask, but what happened interrupted him…but that doesn't seem right to me, somehow…"

"Draco…I hate to see you so distressed," Aurelie said, looking at Draco instead of the cauldron she was cleaning. She wished she knew the right thing to say. She wished she knew how to comfort Draco, how to make him feel better. She wished she hadn't ruined his mood. "Maybe you should ask him about it. Do you think you can do that?" Draco shrugged, not looking up from the salve he was stirring.

"I need more time to think about it, Aurelie," he said, adding the last ingredient and stirring it in. "It hadn't occurred to me to even think that we hadn't made anything official yet. I wish I had thought of that before I went blindly into my happiness." The little French girl nodded sympathetically, unable to think of any response. They finished out the shift in silence, Aurelie cleaning cauldrons, Draco making burn salve, and when it was time to leave, Draco didn't go to visit Harry, sending a message that something had come up and he wouldn't be able to visit that day. Instead, he went back to his flat and lit a fire, curling up in his armchair and staring into the flames, hoping they could tell him all the answers. He wanted to ask Harry what they were, but he was afraid that would offend the brunette. He couldn't think of a way to phrase it that didn't sound bad, but he was having a terrible time of it. Draco found himself wishing for his mother's presence. She would have known precisely what to do, but there was no going to Azkaban to talk to her, and there were no floo calls in Azkaban. He couldn't talk to her. He couldn't ask her. He couldn't risk sending Canitiem, it was too dangerous. He had to do something, but he couldn't figure out what it was. Eventually, his eyes grew too tired to watch the fire anymore, so he went to bed.

The first thing he was conscious of was that he wasn't in his room. It took Draco several moments, but eventually he realized that he was sitting in the parlor of Malfoy Manor, on the plush velvet couch, and on the matching armchair sat Narcissa Malfoy in all her elegance, sipping a cup of tea. Draco started to say something, but Narcissa put up a hand to silence him.

"Don't say anything, my dear Draco, simply listen to what I have to say," she said, setting the cup of tea in its saucer on the end table. "You are a very intelligent young man, Draco. I have always told you so. You are brilliant, and I love you. I would do anything for you. I do not approve of your relationship with Mr. Potter, but I know that I cannot stop you, for stopping you would mean sacrificing your happiness."

"But, Mother…I don't know if what we have is actually a relationship," Draco replied, surprised at how meek he sounded. "We never…we never explicitly said…he never…"

"You are soul mates, my dragon," Narcissa replied patiently. "And he loves you. You don't have to worry about whether or not he will accept you, Draco. You must simply ask him to be yours. You know that he will say yes, regardless of how you phrase it." Draco looked down at his lap, contemplating what next to say. He didn't feel like he was finished yet. He looked back up, and had to bite back a shriek. Narcissa was gone, and in her place was his father, wrapped in as much anger as Draco had ever seen. What happened next was too frightening for Draco to bear remembering, and he woke up in his wrecked bedroom, somehow clutching his wand and possessed of the knowledge of what he was next to do. Before that, though, he had to repair his bedroom. He didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but his mother had interrupted his nightmare long enough to tell him exactly what he needed to know, exactly how to go about doing what he needed to do. As he worked to clean up his bedroom, he sent a silent thanks to his mother, knowing that it was some kind of magic nobody understood that had given him the answers he needed.


End file.
